Harry Snape
by Lotten
Summary: What if the Dursleys wouldn't accept Harry? What if they skipped to Switzerland, leaving Harry with no one to take care of him? UNDER RECONSTRUCTION!
1. The baby and his keeper

**A/N:** So, here it is, in all its rewritten glory. It's still basically the same story, I've just... changed the way I phrase things, and maybe addled some small details. Some parts you might recognise, probably because I couldn't come up with anything better.

It's quite a bit longer than the original version, and I, at least, think it is quite a lot better. And the next chapter is on its way. That's a promise. I'll try to work on this one as much as I can.

* * *

**Chapter one**

**The baby and his keeper**

Severus Snape was spectacularly pissed off.

He prided himself on having a good reason for it, too. For starters, he was holding a baby. But while that hardly was what he would call dignifying, what really _got_ him was the way everyone was staring at him. He was willing to admit that since it was the child of that good-for-nothing James Potter, some small amount of surprise was in order. But it was clearly lacking proportion, he decided. It was not like he _liked_ holding that bundle of uselessness, it was just that orders was orders and _someone_ had to do what they were told, even if they happened not to enjoy it.

Why could people never mind their own business?

"Professor Dumbledore?" he demanded, straining his voice to keep it calm.

"Yes, Severus?" The man wouldn't even look up from his bloody book! Severus clenched his right fist.

"I was right." There was a hint of smugness in his cold voice. "We should never have talked to those muggles before we dropped it off."

"The Dursleys had to have it all explained to them," Dumbledore said with a barely audible sigh, lifting his gaze to regard the man before him through his half-moon glasses.

"Well, they're gone."

"Gone?" This, at least, seemed to bring about some kind of reaction. Severus smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, not a smile that anyone in their right mind would invite for tea.

"They've fled the country. We have not been able to trace them, yet, but we think they were headed for Switzerland. Anyway, we cannot force them back here. They have the right to live wherever they choose. And we all agreed that the child should stay in England."

Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired. "Why did they do it?"

"They left a note. I do not think you will have to read it, though. It is made up mainly of insults. They get their point across very well, however. They do not want to have anything to do with our kind." He smirked derisively at the last words, and it was clear that _he_, at least, really felt about the same way about _their_ kind.

Dumbledore sighed. "What shall we make of this, Alice?"

Alice Longbottom stood up abruptly and walked over to the window, flinging it open so hard that the windowpanes rattled in an attempt to vent out some of her frustration. There was an angry sparkle in her usually kind eyes and a rigid set to her back that very acutely communicated her displeasure.

"Well, someone from the Order will have to take him. There is nothing for it. We still have lots of unorganized Death Eaters running about like headless chickens, and I am not at all happy about that Malfoy being freed. If the boy can't have one of his own family to protect him, he must at least have someone that knows the dangers that threaten him."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Well, I really don't know. Remus, perhaps. He, after all, is the closest thing to family the boy has in this world, now that the Dursleys are out of the picture."

Severus cleared his throat politely. "With all respect, Alice," he said coldly, "I do not think that Lupin would be a wise choice. The man is depressed. He has lost all his closest friends this last week. You saw him after Pettigrew was murdered. We cannot trust a child to a man that we had to tie to his own bed just to keep him from attacking himself and others."

She whipped around in sudden anger, her eyes narrowing. "You are only saying that because you hate him!" she hissed, stepping closer. "You are only saying that because you know that James' son would be happy with him, and all you want is to..."

Dumbledore held up a hand to quiet her. "Severus is right," he said heavily. "Remus is, understandably, out of his mind with grief. We cannot demand of him to take care of the child. You know that, Alice."

"Fine. Then we'll take him," she snapped, tossing her hair. Her voice quivered with passion. "He will be fine with us, he's just about as old as Neville, and we know how to tend to a small child. He'll be happy."

Dumbledore smiled. "Much better. I am glad you want to do this, Alice."

"Well, of course. Can't have too many children, Albus." Her anger suddenly gone, she smiled warmly at the bundle that Severus gratefully shoved over into her waiting arms.

"With your permission," he said, bowing slightly to Dumbledore. The old man waved his hand.

"You are free to leave. Thank you for bringing him with you, Severus."

"My pleasure, I'm sure," he sneered sarcastically, and swept out in a flurry of black robes.

"Can't see how you can stand him," Alice muttered, throwing filthy looks after him. "Can't see how he stands himself, for that matter."

"Don't," Dumbledore chided her gently. "He's not as terrible as you would have him. He has given everything to help the order, has he not?"

"That is all very well, Dumbledore, but I saw him the day Si... Black was taken to Azkaban. He was smiling."

"And wouldn't Sirius have done the same, had the roles been reversed? No, Alice, do not judge him. You do not know him."

"Do you?"

Dumbledore did not answer; he merely stared with an unfathomable expression at the door through which Severus had quitted. _How_, he tiredly asked himself, _can you be expected to know a man, when he himself does not?_

* * *

Remus leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his head lolling forward.

_Sirius! How could you?_

Those were the words that relentlessly kept repeating themselves in his mind, over and over, until he was certain that he was running mad. There was no escape, no rest, for even in his dreams he would hear his own shattered voice, asking the question to which no answer was to be found. And the forthcoming night would be the first full moon he faced without his friends, not because they were unavailable, but because they were gone.

"The boy will be taken care of by the Longbottoms," an indifferent voice at his left pointed out.

"Thank you, Severus," he answered tiredly, not even able to feel some anger at the man's obvious disinterest. Besides, it felt good to know that there was at least hope for Harry. He had never approved of Petunia and her lout of a husband.

The other man shrugged his shoulders, walking past him. Remus thought of how much he had hated him for his lack of emotion when James, Lily and Peter had died, over Sirius's betrayal. The display of open glee that Remus had expected wasn't there, just a faint little smile when Sirius' sentence was read out, and that was so much worse. It was... respectless. Like they had meant nothing.

But on the other hand, was there anything that meant something to Severus Snape, except Severus Snape himself?

He backed into his room without turning on the light, collapsing backwards upon his bed. It was unmade and the sheets smelled a bit rank from the sweat of tormented dreams broken by long periods of sleeplessness.

The pain was beyond enduring, beyond understanding. When he closed his eyes he could see Lily and James before them, the memory so fresh that it was hard to tell the difference between what was reality and what was not. And that just made it worse. How could they be gone, when they had been real, living persons just a week ago?

Where had it gone wrong? They had all been happy, hadn't they? And they had all loved Harry so much that if someone would've claimed a week ago that one of them was going to try to hurt him, he would've given them a black eye and told them to be happy that he hadn't done more.

He remembered James holding the newborn Harry in his arms, looking like he couldn't believe that this was actually his son. He remembered how Sirius had laughed, remembered the gently teasing warmth in his voice as he said, "Poor child, he threatens to look like his father." And James hadn't even scowled, it was possible he hadn't even heard, he just stared down at Harry and said, very softly, "I think he is looking at me." And there was such tenderness in Lily's eyes that it looked almost painful, as she lay tired and spent, but so happy that she seemed to light up the whole room from within.

He remembered how scared Peter had been of dropping the child, how he had refused to hold him. And even then he looked at the boy with what seemed to be anxiety and guilt, as if expecting to somehow hurt him anyway. And Remus remembered holding the boy himself, feeling happy and slightly guilty at the same time, for as he felt the small heart beating against his hands, his soul had whispered, _"A part of your life is mine, Harry. I'll never have a child of my own, but at least I'll have a part of this…"_

Yes, he remembered that feeling, that sudden _certainty_ of having found his way home at last. He was a part of a family. It wasn't a very orthodox one, but it was big and warm and he was accepted as a part of it, and that was all that mattered. And even as they stood in the midst of a raging war, he had never been as happy as this last year. It had all been so perfect.

And then the world shattered. Without warning, without any explanation; it was so pointless, so unfair; it was irreversible and it felt like dying, over and over again with every second that passed without his friend by his side.

Sirius... How could he have forgotten how much they had all loved him? And when he had told Remus how much it meant to him that they all trusted him, had that even been for real? Hadn't he loved Harry? All those times when he had held the boy in his arms, making faces at him and playing with him, because he loved to hear him laugh… Had all that been a charade? Just a way to lull them into a false sense of security?

Had there ever been a Sirius that loved them and cared for them? Or was that just a very pretty lie that they had told themselves?

Once more, tears started streaming down his face, and sobs wrecked his body that were more painful even than his monthly transformations. He could still hear Sirius' mad laughter as the Aurors escorted him away; he could still see the big, smoking crater where Peter had been. Hopeless, helpless Peter, trying to help and screwing up as usual... And he could still feel the anger, like red-hot wires coiled around his soul. Every day he had to fight it, fight the urge to let go again and never come back. As long as Harry was still alive, he had to hang on to whatever was left of his sanity.

Harry... What kind of life would he have? He would have to live with the knowledge of parents he couldn't remember, live with the fame which he could derive no pleasure from, and with the shadow of Voldemort for ever present... And his only true links to his parents would be his father's arch-enemy and a creature that was more wolf than man.

He sighed, reaching out unconsciously for the untamed part of his soul, but then quickly recoiled again. It was gaining more and more control over him. It had taken him over completely when Peter had been killed. He couldn't remember much of it, but later he had been told that they had had to restrain him from tearing Sirius apart with his bare hands. It had been almost like a déjà vu, for once more that other part of him had taken over, and he had almost killed someone. It had been just the same after the incident in the Shrieking Shack. They told him afterwards that he had wrestled Sirius to the ground, clawing and biting and hitting him wherever he could reach. Sirius had never even tried to fight back; James and Peter had been so shocked that they didn't know how to react. Finally, one of them had gathered enough wits to Stun him, but not before he had knocked Sirius senseless.

Two times he had lost himself completely, both times over Sirius. Sirius was like that. He got under your skin. You couldn't help caring about him, and you couldn't help forgiving him, even when he had almost made sure that you unwittingly killed another student. Not this time, though. There was no forgiveness now.

_Oh, __S__irius…__ How could you?_

* * *

Three days later, Severus was busy reading when the girl Nymphadora Tonks stumbled though his door. The nine-year-old looked fearfully up at him, knowing very well that Severus Snape did not look kindly upon those who interrupted his privacy.

"Mr. Snape, sir, mother said to get you immediately. She said it was really, really important!" She was rapidly changing hair-colour from sheer nervousness. It happened quite often. She did not really know how to control her abilities as a metamorphmagus yet, and her anxious disposition made it even harder.

"Very well. But do try to knock the next time." He stood up abruptly, and Nymphadora stumbled backwards out of his way.

"Sorry," she mumbled, staring at her feet, but he ignored her. Without another word he swept past and out into the hall, and the girl sagged with relief. Of all the grownups, he scared her more than anyone else.

"Andromeda?"

He barely recognised her, only guessed it was her because she was standing in the doorway to her own room. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, her face a sickly pale yellow, and her usually proud posture was crouched, like that of a wounded animal. "Severus..." She turned her head away, pressing her lips together. He waited silently until she could speak again. "The Longbottoms... Oh, it is awful..."

"Dead?"

"Tortured." Her face twisted in a bitter grimace. "My dear sister and some other rabble. They have been caught. But Alice and Frank... They are in some kind of... some kind of fit, we don't really know… And there's no telling if they will... ever... be the same..."

"Their child?"

"Will be taken care of by his grandmother. But we do not know what to do with Harry. She's an old woman, and if Alice and Frank should not... come back... Well, we can hardly expect that she will take care of him as well."

Severus heaved an annoyed sigh. "So much trouble…" he muttered sourly.

Andromeda looked positively scandalized. "Trouble? _Trouble?_ What kind of a heartless git would…?"

"_This _kind of heartless git, madam." He gave her a humourless smile. "Very well. I suppose someone else from the Order will have to take care of him."

"Dumbledore is considering it." Her tone was cold and biting; her eyes were turned away from him as if she was trying to restrain herself from smacking him.

"Is Alice ill?" a small voice asked. The both grownups jumped, facing Nymphandora. They had not heard her coming.

"Yes, dear. She is very ill."

The small, heart-shaped face expressed anxiousness and a trace of sorrow. "And she won't be well? You said she wouldn't!""I said that we don't know, love."

Her lower lip was trembling now. "Will she die, mother?"

"There might be a chance that she will not... be herself anymore." Andromeda looked anguished at the sight of her uncomprehending daughter.

"She will never get well?"

"We do not know, sweetie... Dora, come back!"

She hurried after her running child. Severus glanced after them, and then he shook his head. It was none of his business, he decided. Why should any of it be his business? He did his best to help the Order, but otherwise... Otherwise he minded himself. What did he care about what they thought of him?

"I heard running. Has something happened?" Lupin appeared in the doorway to his room, looking for all the world like he had not had a wink of sleep the last week. Well, he probably hadn't.

"The Longbottoms have been tortured. They appear to be in shock, or something similar. We do not know if they will recover. It seems permanent, if I was to understand Andromeda right."

Lupin closed his eyes in pain, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. His face shone white and bloodless, and he was trembling all over.

"Lupin?"

"I'm... fine... Just fine..." Every word seemed to cause him unbearable agony. He turned around and slammed the door. The next moment, there was a loud crash, unmistakably a piece of furniture getting smashed.

Severus turned, and walked away.

* * *

"Well, Dumbledore?" Arthur Weasley demanded. "What's to be done with the boy? You know that my offer still stands."

"And I would gladly take it, Arthur, if I thought that your economical situation was that, that you would be able to take care of another child. As it is now, you barely have money to enough to go around, and I've noticed that Molly is pregnant again."

The red-headed man blushed, and said nothing. He stood silent, glaring defiantly at the old man, but his heart wasn't in it. Truth to be told – and he was ashamed to admit it – he was quite relieved. One more mouth to feed wasn't what they needed.

"Well, the keeper has to be a member of the Order," Albus mused, seemingly thinking aloud. "And it has to be someone who knows the ways of the Death Eaters, someone who knows what to expect. They'd have to know a thing or two about Dark magic. Preferably someone who wouldn't mind living isolated from the Wizarding World. Perhaps even someone that would be able to teach him privately, until he enrols at Hogwarts. And… someone who they would never expect." He gave Andromeda a significant look. The tall woman paled.

"Oh no! Oh, Albus! You can't do that! That man doesn't have a heart in his body! The poor child would grow up unloved and unwanted! And he _hated_ James and Lily. Imagine what he would tell Harry about his parents..."

"I wouldn't let him. But he is the one most suited for the task."

"Why? He does not know a thing about children!"

"Maybe not. But I think he remembers what it is like _being_ a child, and that is the best thing a parent can know."

"But... but..."

"Listen, Andromeda, I know you cannot take him." He smiled gently at her as she lowered her head. "I do not blame you. Nymphandora is a very sensitive, singular child, and she needs your constant attention. In fact, no one except Severus is able. No one as suitable, that is. Besides, he is distantly related to Harry on James' side. And that is the kind of protection that the boy needs the most right now. The protection of his own blood. We will do as I say, and that is my final word."

* * *

Andromeda raged and stormed some more, but was eventually subdued. Remus, apathetically watching them from his place in a huge armchair, was stunned by how very much like Sirius she was. For one thing, she looked almost exactly like him, with the same handsome, aristocratic features; the same predatory bone-structure. And she moved and talked like him, and most certainly reminded of him in the aspect that she let everyone know it when she was displeased. And they both had that tendency to go overboard, emotionally.

He imagined what Sirius would've said if he had been told that Severus was going to take care of James' child. Or rather: What the old Sirius would've said. The Sirius that wasn't a traitor, the one that had cared about nothing as much as his friends.

The Sirius he thought that he had known.

He had already resigned himself to the fact that he himself was in no condition to take care of a baby. He was barely able to take care of himself. It was past full moon, and yet he had trouble controlling his own body at times. It usually worked with breaking things or smashing his fists into the wall, but there were times he had to Stun himself to keep from running completely feral and probably attacking other people.

He saw Severus enter; called there by the silvery-white phoenix that was the headmaster's Patronus. He watched the other man's face very closely as he received his orders, looking for signs of the anger and frustration that surely must manifest. Remus was, against his will, impressed. Severus took it with remarkable grace, as was the case with most things. Neither the flutter of a lash, neither the tightening of the jaw, nor the clenching of a fist gave away what he was feeling. Nonetheless, however unseen, the anger was still there. The man reeked of fury, a scent so powerful that Remus almost choked on it. He was surprised that Severus did not simply refuse.

But he never did. Not when Dumbledore ordered him. Of course, in Severus' situation there weren't many who would show themselves too eager to disobey. His position as a member of the Order was still a very shaky arrangement. Very many believed that once you had sworn your soul to the Dark Lord, you didn't really change. Not in _essentials_. Whatever flag you were marching under, whatever uniform you choose to wear, the same evil heart would beat underneath.

Severus always wore long sleeves, as if he was trying to make a point. Trying to tell people that he had left all that behind him. Remus did not know why he had come back, nor did he care. He had seen Severus, masked, battle his former comrades, the Death Eaters, in the aftermath of the war. There was such a fury in him when he fought, that he could only remember it being matched by one. Sirius. Severus Snape was no traitor, no matter how unpleasant he personally would think him. Whatever made him stay on the right side, he was faithful to it.

And of course, he didn't see the contradiction in his own reasoning. In his heart, Sirius was still no traitor.

The tall, black-haired man whipped around after having received his orders, storming out of the room. No, Severus was not at all pleased with the situation. But he would accept in angry silence.

"He will not treat the child well," Andromeda sighed.

"If that is the case, he'll find me in his bedroom by the next full moon," Remus mumbled.

Andromeda laughed shakily, but stopped when she saw his look of grim determination.

"I mean it."

* * *

Remus was right. Severus Snape was all but happy with the situation. Well, to be frank, he was out of his mind with fury.

After having adopted Lupin's trick of breaking assorted furniture, he finally sat down at his bed – too big to break – arms shaking from exhaustion. They could not be serious!

He could not take care of Potter's child!

Come to think of it, how could they expect him to take care of _any_ child? He didn't even _like _children!

He forced himself to remember the small, cloth-wrapped bundle he had carried there just some days ago, tried to force himself to feel some kind of affection. A small face, the thin lightning-bolt scar, a pair of big, closed eyes, and the same hopeless mop of hair as... He shuddered. It was a small, not very clean being with about the intelligence of a jellyfish. What was so endearing about that?

Besides, he'd be a horrible parent. Just look at _his_ parents, just look at the people that had taught Severus what a child was to expect from his parents.

There was the weakness of the mother, that woman with a pale, thin face and a pale, thin voice that promised that this was the last time, father had promised, he really had, and he would never ever hit again. And there was the tyranny of the father who would promise and promise but he would always hit again, until one morning there was an empty sheet where mother used to sleep, an empty wardrobe where her clothes used to be, an empty hole in Severus' life where he hadn't realised he needed something until it was gone. And then the silence of the house as his father tried to drink his mother back and never managed, _and the strange thing was_ that Severus, who had spent so many nights of shouts and tears from downstairs praying for silence, now hated that very same silence and wished it tearfully away.

That was what parenthood was, as far as Severus was concerned. Either there was too much of it or none at all. How was he supposed to manage something better than that, when he didn't even care for the child?

He looked down at his own hands, the only part of himself he was happy with. Thin, delicate, pale. These were hands for working magic, hands for carefully brewing potions. Not for changing napkins and feeding a baby.

He had a mind that was made for quiet solitude and absolute control, and it was not to be given up on in the care for a small, noisy creature that couldn't take care of itself.

"Works to break things, does it not?" Remus asked conversationally from the door. Anyone else except Severus Snape would've jumped at this sudden intrusion into the world of his thoughts. Severus merely glared.

"Go away, Lupin" he growled impatiently.

"No," Remus said simply, "I want to talk to you."

"Fine. Talk." He turned his head away, to hide the fact that facing the last of his childhood's tormentors was bloody difficult. Severus might tell himself firmly that he was a grown man now, that he needn't be afraid of a skinny, sorrow-ridden werewolf; there was still a part of him that shied like a bullied teenager expecting yet another day of pain and humiliation.

"You will storm and rant, but just like Andromeda, you mostly do it for show. And you will do as Dumbledore orders. Am I right?"So he wanted to gloat, did he? Severus nodded, his expression stony.

"Well, that's all fine by me, since I know that I would probably eat the poor child if I were to take care of him." There was bitter laughter in his voice. "But I am telling you this, Severus: If you in any way treat Harry ill, I am personally going to make whatever Sirius and James did to you during our years in school seem like a _cakewalk _in comparison. I will find out ways of torturing you so artful and studied, that the deceased and unlamented Dark Lord himself would have absolutely _nothing_ on it. Do you hear me?"

Severus had never heard Lupin raise his voice before, and was for a moment shocked into silence. Apparently, Lupin wasn't going to hang around to wait for his answer. His gaunt face split into a wry smile.

"I am glad you see things my way. Now... well, I guess I should say, 'good luck'." He nodded friendlily, and was gone.

Severus sat on his bed, staring at the now closed door. Suddenly, something was very different. For while it was true that he didn't care for the child, and if he had a chance he would gladly be rid of it, there was still that small voice inside him that said, 'Don't prove them right!'. Severus detested the way they all thought they knew him so well; that they had figured him out and knew what he went for. They didn't know. They couldn't know. He had _reasons_ to be loyal. And no matter how much he hated them, he would still follow the orders that were given to him, and he would follow them well. There was no point in doing anything if you didn't at least _try_ to be good at it.

Yes. He always followed orders. Because that was what you did. If you were _truly_ loyal. Black had only followed orders when it suited him, and only look at what _he_ had done.

And still Severus was treated with equal disdain.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

Remus hoped that it had worked. It ought to. Severus Snape never backed down from a challenge. That was yet another thing that made him so much alike Sirius. And if everyone thought that he would make a lousy parent, Snape would go out of his way to be as good as he could be.

Whatever that meant.

At least, for Harry, it would be better than nothing.

* * *

Severus sat down beside the cradle containing his arch-enemies son. The boy was awake now, the green, almond-shaped eyes darting alertly around the room. Lily's eyes. They wouldn't stop pointing it out, in a foolish attempt to believe that she was still there in some way. But he knew she was gone; he had seen that body lain out for the funeral. There had been no life left, no spirit to watch over the ones that were left behind. Just empty, stupid flesh.

Nonetheless, he had stayed the night, watching…

"Gloob," the child told him very seriously.

Severus snapped out of his reverie, fixing his gaze on the child. "Must be the wisest thing anyone has said to me today," he mumbled viciously, watching the child flail aimlessly with his hand. "You know, they keep telling me that you are very much like your father..."

The child made a noise as if blowing a raspberry.

"Exactly my point."

The flailing hand in some way found its way back to its owner, slapping him over the nose. The child, of course, immediately started to cry.

Soon, someone would hear the baby and come running, he knew they would. And they would find him there there, and as they lifted the child from the cradle their eyes would look at him with the kind of resentment that appeared to be the lot of everyone who couldn't see the charm in a child drooling all over the front of your robes. He could hear them already, their whiny little voices picking up as soon as they left the room, _'…just sitting there, letting the poor baby cry, I'm going to complain to Dumbledore, I swear I am…'_.

No. Oh no. He would not give them the satisfaction.

Gingerly, he picked up the small bundle, trying to hold him as he had seen Alice holding him. Head up, feet down. _Fine_. And a hand around the neck, right? To support it, or something. Blasted useless thing, it kept moving about… There! And now what?

Completely helpless as he was faced with thin baby wails and big wet tears, he tried bobbing the child up and down awkwardly, mumbling something as stupid as, "There, there..."

The _really_ stupid part about it was that it worked.

Instantly calmed by the presence of an adult, the boy reached out his hand towards the face of this new acquaintance, and since he had a very grabable nose, he… grabbed. With a vice-grip.

At loss of ideas what to do now, or, more importantly, how to get loose – Maybe he could try to prise loose the boy's fingers? But what if they broke? – Severus stared down at the small face. The baby gurgled with an infant's contagious laughter. In spite of himself, his soon-to-be adoptive father found himself smiling. He quickly sent a searching look around the room to make sure no one had seen. He couldn't detect any spectators to the humiliation, thank goodness, but he nonetheless checked his features, turning the smile into a scowl.

"Just as annoying as your father, aren't you?" he mumbled, but he could not quite manage the intended venomous tone.

"Mbloo!"

"But with a much more impressive vocabulary, I have to admit."

"'Nitch!" Harry squeezed even harder, making Severus grimace in pain.

"Snitch, you say? I hear that that was your first word ever. Poor, indoctrinated child, I'm sure."

"La!"

"Whatever you say." Finally the brat would let go! "Why," Severus mused with a pained grimace, "does everyone feel compelled to harass my nose?"

The child of course didn't answer. He only laughed, gurgling happily and instead grabbing some of the lank wisps of black hair falling around this Funny Man's face.

"Well, I see that _we_ are going to get on like a house on fire," Severus mumbled bitterly, yanking his hair free. "Which is a very stupid expression, anyway. But what I'm heading at is that you won't get rid of me. That's Dumbledore's orders, you see, and mortals like you and I have no choice but to accept it. Life is – ah, how did Black put it again? – a bitch. Very elegant, sophisticated man, your godfather."

"Itch!"

"You're a fast learner." He put Harry back in the cradle, glaring at him as he squiggled and tried to sit up. "Go to sleep, won't you? You are really quite a tiring experience. I need some peace and quiet."However, Harry didn't seem to be of that mind at all. Severus was sure that he did it simply to spite him. Half an hour of utter debasement seemed to be required before the child would be content with lying down and keeping quiet, distracted by a teddy bear that Severus had thrown him in mere desperation. By that time, the young man was so exhausted himself that he fell asleep on the couch.

Remus, watching from the doorway, grinned.

"Andromeda," he whispered urgently. "Come and have a look at this."

She gave him a doubtful look, padding closer. Remus didn't know it, but Andromeda had been one of the Order members that had suspected him strongly of being the spy, and even though she felt bad about it now, she wasn't sure she trusted him. He was, after all, a werewolf. How could you trust someone like that?

However, that was soon forgotten as she leaned over Remus' shoulder and beheld a most peculiar scene.

"What's he doing in there?"

"I've been watching them these last ten minutes or so. He's been trying to make Harry sleep." Remus laughed softly. "Although it seems like Harry managed to bring about the opposite, or what do you say?"

"But he hates children, Remus."

Remus shrugged. "Perhaps. At least he's _trying_."

Andromeda snorted angrily. "I hate Dumbledore when he is right," she growled, adopting one of Sirius' favourite expressions. As Remus closed his eyes in pain, she relented. "I am sorry Remus," she mumbled softly, and after some hesitation she even touched his arm, briefly. He seemed to accept the apology, for he forced a smile and shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the painful memories by force.

"Well, this settles it, I guess," she said, sounding a bit too cheerful in her attempt to cover up the embarrassing silence. But she couldn't help but to add in a dark undertone, "Still… I really wonder what kind of upbringing the poor kid will have."

"Ghoo!" said Harry from the other room.

* * *

The matter was settled rather smoothly, mainly because there wasn't anyone at the Ministry that had the nerve to argue with Albus Dumbledore. What Severus thought, he kept to himself; what Remus thought was expressed only in very low tones to those he knew would not pass it on. Andromeda, of course, was an entirely different matter, and there was some grumbling from Rubeus Hagrid as well. All in all, however, the process was really quite painless.

What Harry thought was – understandably – hard to tell. But he seemed in general to be content with the whole situation as long as he was free to pull the nose of his adoptive father, have regular meals, wake everyone up when they least expected it at night, and at daily basis attempt a runaway, crawling as far in the corridors as it was possible before someone noticed and brought him back. He was an open-minded child, and enjoyed both the company of the Funny Man, the Very Tall Woman, the Even Taller Man, the one with White Hair All Over His Face, and the Yellow-Eyed-And-Skinny Man.

He remembered vaguely that there used to be others. There used to be one that meant food and warmth, with a soft voice that had brought comfort. And one that had held him in the evenings when he was going to sleep, one that used to lift him up on his shoulders, who used to sit by his bed and talk to him. And one that had tickled him, made funny faces, and used to throw him up in the air and catch him again. And one more who's presence he had not quite liked, because it felt like this one was sad, and in some strange way, it had felt like it was Harry's fault.

Then there was a day when he was lifted up from the Sleeping Place by the Funny Man, and carried outside. It was a bit cold, but he laughed, because there was so much light. He heard people speak, even though not all words were familiar. It was Yellow-Eye, he saw, and someone else that was not quite so familiar, with really strange eyes.

And then they were inside a something and there was a lot of noise and it was warmer as well. It didn't seem like it would stop, so Harry fell asleep.

* * *

Remus leaned back against his seat, eyes scanning the cold flames of the autumn landscape outside. His body screamed for sleep, but his mind did not want to cooperate, flitting restlessly from one thought to another, never quite processing the information before changing course once more. He felt shattered and bound at the same time. He felt like he wanted to curl up under his bed and die, and at the same time he wanted to stretch his muscles and run as fast as he could, until he dropped to the ground from sheer exhaustion.

He was not unused to this feeling. Especially before the full moons he was more or less in an open war with himself. Or rather, the He that was Remus Lupin was in open war with the He that was the wolf.

The wolf was a fairly straightforward creature that didn't like being betrayed, and was of the mind that someone, somewhere ought to be suffering badly for it.

Remus Lupin was of the mind that the wolf could do him a favour and kindly _sod off_ and let him die in peace.

Of course it didn't. There was nowhere for the Wolf to go, even if it had wanted to. Which it didn't. It seemed to be of the opinion that Remus ought to be the subservient one, dealing out the punishment on the world that it saw fit. Remus, who naturally didn't share that view, nonetheless hated himself for that small part of him that agreed with the wolf, that small _human_ part that still wanted to taste Sirius' blood on his lips.

He tried to shift position, and flinched when a sudden burst of pain set in. He would've been largely healed by now, normally, but the last full moon had been a nightmare. The wolf saw it as its right to expressively tell Remus exactly what it was feeling at the moment, which happened to be white-hot fury. Well, trying to tear off its limbs and skin – _their_ limbs and skin – was, he had to admit, very expressive.

Harry gurgled in his sleep, and Remus stole a glance at him. He seemed happy enough. It was fortunate, at least, that he was not older. He assumed that small children wouldn't like things that were unfamiliar very much, but the boy had not been old enough to understand what had happened that day. And even though he had been crying when... when Sirius found him, he would hopefully not even remember that terrible evening. Oh, he would grow up knowing his parents had been killed, but he would not have to suffer the trauma of having seen it with the eyes of an older child, a child that understood what was happening.

Remus moved his gaze to Severus' face. The man holding the boy was staring out the window with a glazed-over expression. Remus remembered having seen it before, back at school; sometimes when James and Sirius were torturing him, and sometimes during breakfast, when the Owl Post arrived. Sometimes of late, too, when new deaths were reported in the Order. It was as if he shielded himself from the world, gave up whatever bonds were keeping him to it. Remus remembered having envied him that ability, and he still did. There was too much pain in this world. Too much anger and disappointment and fear and… betrayal.

Shaking his head to clear out the thoughts before he once more ended up in the quickly spiralling maelstrom of depression, he plunged his hand into his pocket to have something constructive to do. He fished out the thin chain with its pendant, nothing more than cheap silver bought from a muggle shop. He wished that he would've been able to buy something else than silver, but gold was too expensive, he couldn't afford it, and buying something cheaper was out of the question.

The metal glinted with false innocence as it seared his fingers. Soon enough bleeding wounds would open, and the poisonous metal would find its way into his blood, little by little. The wolf inside him howled in fury and pain – it hurt him too. Silver was one of the few things that did. He quickly fished a napkin out of another pocket, using it to hold the chain as he nimbly snapped the pendant open, trying to ignore the pain. It had been really hard to fit the pictures inside it, but he had wanted to do it by himself. Now Lily was smiling at him from the left half, James from the right.

The boy had the right to some kind of link to his parents, whatever his adoptive father might think of it. He would give this to Severus and tell him to give it to the boy when he was big enough to keep from sticking it inside his mouth or immediately losing it. Of course, Remus would visit once in a while, but he thought it better if it was the boy's guardian who gave it to him.

Flicking his wand at the pendant, he muttered a soft spell. It glowed blood-red for a moment, before once more turning silver. But now there was a slight pink cast to the metal. The spell would warn Remus if Harry was ever to find himself in great distress, or if immediate danger threatened him.

Just to be on the safe side of the Beater's bat, as James would've put it.

* * *

Severus entered his new house with the boy on his arm, not even deigning to look at the people that were still unloading his furniture and personal belongings. He stomped through the bare, inhospitable rooms, muttering curses to himself as he went. In his hand he clutched the pendant that Lupin had bestowed upon him, scarcely bothering to hide his relief as he let go of the trinket. His fingers, Severus had noticed, were bleeding.

With the fingers of one hand he flicked it open, staring down at the two faces smiling cheerfully up at him, obviously unaware that they were dead. His first, violent impulse was to throw it out the window and force himself to forget about it. But as much as he hated James Potter, he was not stupid.

Pissing off an already unhinged werewolf was _very_ stupid.

Instead, he found the only furnished room in the house, the bedroom, and absently put Harry down on the unmade bed. On the wall, just as Albus had said, an old reproduction of an impressionistic paining hung, looking slightly out of place in contrast to the old, faded wallpaper.

_Melius__frangi__ quam __flecti_ he mumbled, tapping it with his wand, and the portrait swung open.

'Melius frangi quam flecti.'Rather break than bend. Needless to say, Severus had chosen the password himself.

Behind the painting were his most prized possessions. Some rare – and probably illegal, he had not bothered to check – books, some old letters, some heirlooms, and – because he was of a suspicious nature – a large part of his savings. Amongst them, he now placed the silver amulet and some papers concerning his guardianship, before carefully closing it once more.

He then hurried back to the door, where his bags were now waiting, hoping feverently that the child would not attempt to explore his new environments – and probably fall off the bed and break his head – just yet.

This, of course, made rather evident his lack of experience when it came to taking care of children. When he came back, Harry was standing – albeit with a bit of wobbling – in his bed, supported by one of the bedposts, waving happily at him as he entered. Groaning in despair, he hurried over, securing the child once more in a horizontal position. Harry gurgled with laughter and kicked his legs, recognising this as a very funny game. He would have to try it again, later.

"'Lay!"

Severus shook his head and said, in what he hoped was an appropriately stern voice, "No, we shall not play right now. Lie still!"

It has to be agreed upon that this was a rather pathetic attempt, and it wasn't very surprising that Harry happily ignored it.

* * *

_James was still upset, and was off somewhere sulking, so Lily had to watch over her child on her own. __She rather happy with that, actually.__ James' rants about hook-nosed __slimeballs__ were rather repetitive, and they had begun to wear her patience down. There are just so many ways you can insult a person before it stops being interesting._

_To tell the truth, she wasn't sure that Severus was the best person to take care of her son either. But this wasn't because she thought – as did James – that he was the incarnation of all evil. She knew this wasn't the case. She was simply worried; worried that he would regard the task as a burden and come to resent her son for it; worried that he would bring Harry up to the kind of believes that had smashed their friendship, once. However – and of this she was certain – _anything_ was better than Petunia and her lout of a husband, not to mention that horrible son of theirs. She shuddered, resting her head in her hands, an old habit left from the time when she still had an actual body._

_It wasn't as if she hadn't been exasperated about Severus' dismal attempts at handling the child. He was so wretchedly awkward! But she wanted to believe that he was learning, even if he indeed was taking some time. More than anything, she wanted to believe that he _wanted _to learn. __Remus__, from what she had gathered by observing him, seemed to think so. And she had observed __Remus__ very carefully indeed, partly because he was the most sensible man she knew, and partly because she had been worried about him. No one but the invisible watchers on the Other Side had seen __Remus__ stand perfectly still in his room, his wand pointed at his own chest, his breath coming rapidly as he tried to gather the courage to either kill himself or continue to live, and apparently not knowing which was more difficult. In the end, he always flung the wand away in disgust, and the crumpled like a dropped dummy to cry himself to sleep right there on the floor._

_And Lily had breathed a sigh of relief, even if she technically didn't have any lungs to breathe _with

_She had never thought it would be like this. Of course it was impossible to know, but that you were allowed to stay and watch over your loved ones before moving on, that seemed too good to be true._

_She had to believe it, though. Her own mother had explained it to her._

_"I've checked on the __Longbottoms__," James muttered sullenly at her side._

_"And?"__"__It's… frightening..." He shuddered, and she could feel his distress. "They're sort of... empty. __Lost, somehow.__ Wherever they are, I don't think it's like this place. __And.__ I don't think they can find their way back."_

_"You think they will when they... die?"_

_"Don't know. I hope so. For their son's sake..."_

_She nodded, feeling the detached ache of melancholy. She thought maybe feelings were somehow different now. And yet… and yet it felt the same. It was hard to explain, even to yourself._

_"So... what has happened?" James asked reluctantly, settling himself by her side._

_"Lots of trial and error," she commented dryly. __"Mostly error.__ But he is learning," she added stubbornly._

_"I still __can not__ believe that Dumbledore-"_

_"Hush! Look."_

Severus had just carried Harry outside, setting him down at the lawn. Harry, happy to explore these new surroundings, crawled around, poking everything new and exiting with his small fingers.

_"He will sting himself on a wasp or something," James muttered darkly. "And that twit is just sitting there, reading..."_

_"Don't make yourself more stupid than you are, love," Lily chided him gently. "He is not reading at all. He is just pretending to."_

_"Why? There's no one here."_

_"Well, I think he is pretending for himself. He wants to think that he is reading."_

_"Bloody stupid."_

_"Some people are like that."_

_Lily suddenly gasped_, and Severus rushed out of his chair and lifted Harry up, backing away from a spot of grass that the child had been exploring. There was a vexed hiss, and they saw a snake slink away.

_James looked stunned. "I didn't see that!"_

_"That's because you were more interested in criticising Severus than in watching," Lily told him crossly._

_"Well, I..."_

_"Yes?" The memories of her eyes were just as green as the real ones had been, just as sharp and intelligent, and they still seemed to look right through him. James sighed, deciding that he was fighting a battle he had already lost._

_"Nothing, love."_

_"Good."_

"I think we will stay inside today," Severs muttered, trying to explain to himself how he had managed to see that snake while so focused on his reading.

Harry waved goodbye to his new friend in the grass, hissing a soft farewell.

* * *

_"Frank?"_

Alice took some trying steps, but it wasn't easy. The world was just Presences and Feelings, and some steps seemed to take her miles, while others didn't seem to bring her anywhere. And it was even harder to focus her thoughts; they scattered like down in a hurricane.

_"__Alice__?"_

_She had heard that, she knew she had! So he had to be here, somewhere. A while before – it was hard to tell just how long ago, hard to know if there even was such a thing as time in this place - she had been sure that she had seen James, heard him call for her. But he had not __been able to see her, hadn't heard when she tried to answer him. And then he was gone again, and she wondered if he had ever been there. _

_Suddenly, there was a blurred but hopefully human shape close to her._

_"__Alice__? Is that you?"_

_"Frank!"_

_She tried to hug him, but then the world around them _stretched_, and she got the feeling of going _through _him, and when she turned around he was gone again._

_"FRANK!" she called, desperately._

_"I'm here! I can't see you, but I can hear you, Alice. Where are you?"_

_"I'm right here! I can't see you either, but Frank... it sounds like you are right here, right in front of me… but I can't see!"_

_"I know. I know, love. I can't find my way out, __Alice__. I can't find my way out of this… whatever it is. I can't find my way back."_

_"I know. I've tried, too. I hear people talking sometime, but they don't notice me. They don't hear. And I saw James a while ago..."_

_"Me too.__ But he could not see me."_

_"You were there?"__"Yes."_

_"But... but I did not see you."_

_"This... place seems to be moving all the time, __Alice__. I don't know what to do... But I think I can see you now. Can you see me?"_

_"No... Yes!" Slowly, she was able to make out of his shape, blurred and wavering, almost obscured by what seemed to be some kind of perpetual mist, but still there. "You think it is because we are talking?"_

_"Maybe.__ Maybe it's because we are thinking of each other. I don't know."_

_"Then I won't stop thinking. It is so very lonely here, Frank."_

_"I know."_

_Then they fell silent, watching and waiting. They could almost see each other clearly now, and it felt like an endless relief._

_"Frank?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Are you scared?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Me too."_

_"What shall we do?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"Neville?"_

_"Nothing.__ I can feel nothing, and I've seen nothing. He's not here." Her voice trembled, and he could feel her pain even if he could not see it. He ached to hold her, but could not risk losing her again._

_"We will find a way."_

_"We don't... we don't even know where we are."_

_"No. But we will find our way out anyway."_

_Silence._

_"And... if we won't?"_

_Silence._

_"Then I don't know. I really don't know."_

_Silence._

_"I love you."_

_"I love you too."_

_Silence._

* * *


	2. And life moves on

**A/N: **So, once again, for those who have somehow missed it: **I AM REWRITING THIS STORY**. I like it too much to keep it as it was. It WILL be the same story, but with somewhat higher quality.

Oh, and someone asked me if they could get the original version and reread it... I'm really sorry, but I've changed the original file during the re-writing. You can still get the chapters I haven't rewritten, though, if you send me your mail.

(I would also like to point out that I started the re-writing BEFORE DH. However, as I seem to have been right about... stuff concerning Severus, that won't be noticeable.)

**

* * *

**

**Chapter two**

**And life moves on**

_Five years seemed like no time at all when you were dead, Lily noticed with a wistful sigh. Days weren't important anymore, nor was the passing of time noticeable other than by what was happening in the world of the living. Harry was six years old now. It was terribly painful to even think of it, because she could still remember what he had been like as a baby, just a small bundle of pink skin and black hair, chubby little arms and legs. She could still remember feeling his vulnerability like a ribbon of iron around her heart, forged from love and the instinct to protect, and the wild, uncontrollable fear that something would happen to him, that she wouldn't be able to protect him…_

_These were the _only_ things she could remember, and it wasn't enough! She wanted memories of these last five years, wanted memories that belonged to her and Harry and no one else. There were times when she found herself resenting Severus with all her heart because he had been given what was hers by right. And she couldn't be ashamed of it; she didn't even try. She was Harry's mother. It wasn't right that she should have to watch everything from this terrible distance, unable to make her voice heard, unable to touch._

_There were times when she wanted so badly to move on, to end this torture. What could they do, anyway? They couldn't help Harry, however much they might want to. Why not cross over for good, leave the world of the living behind? There was only pain here for them, anyway. Pain and frustration and sometimes also hatred for everything that still lived, a terrible hatred that seemed to come from nowhere and disappear just as quickly._

_But they stayed. In their hearts, they knew they had no choice. Knowing that Harry was safe was worth all the pain._

_Over the years, they had tried to keep an eye on Sirius as well, but soon they had started to avoid it. It all seemed so hopeless. He was lost to them along with the rest of the world, and there was nothing they could do to help him. All they could do was watch, cursing Peter and their own helplessness. The frustration was barely endurable._

"Severus?" Harry piped up,_ and Lily immediately abandoned her thoughts to observe._

"Yes?" He kept his eyes in his book, as always. He spent much of this time reading, but even more of it was spent pretending to read.

"Why don't I call you dad like the other children do their dads?"

_Beside her, James choked._

Severus put down the book. For once, he felt, it would probably be a good idea to give Harry his full attention. However, he didn't really know what to say. Wasn't there some kind of child-friendly version of this? If there was, he seemed to be less than competent at finding it. Drawing a deep breath, he settled for a more direct approach.

"That's because I am not your father, Harry."

Harry's eyes widened and he stared at his stepfather, shock and hurt fighting for dominance in his eyes. Severus sighed. This didn't seem to become any easier. "When you were very small, your parents were killed. So people decided that I should take care of you."

Severus could see how painful question after painful question exploded in Harry's mind, and it was driving him mad that he didn't know how to make it better. "Killed how?" Harry finally asked in a small voice.

"A very evil man murdered them."

Harry gasped, going a bit pale. Then the boy turned on heel and rushed into his room.

"_Follow him," Lily purred dangerously, leaning forward._

"_Or I'll break your nose, so help me..." _

Severus stared after the boy. Great! What was he supposed to do _now_?

He had learned, albeit very slowly, what you were supposed to _do_ with small children. Feed them, keep them clean, do the laundry, buy new clothes. Once you learned, it wasn't that complicated. But how were you supposed to know how to _act_? What was he supposed to say when Harry woke up crying from a nightmare? What did you do when he had scrubbed his knee and wanted comfort?

And how the hell was he supposed to make an orphan feel better when he had just found out that bloody Voldemort bloody murdered his parents?

"_That's it! He's DEAD!"_

"_James, you're the one who's dead. You can't do anything."_

Book in hand, Severus stood frozen at the spot, looking for all the world like a deer faced with a pair of approaching headlights. It was just some kid, he told himself. James Potter's kid, at that. There was no reason to even bother. Just some stupid kid...

Just some stupid kid that he had fed and cared for of for the last five years.

Just some stupid kid that slept in his bed when thunderstorms raged outside.

Just some stupid kid that shouted his name and ran to meet him on the occasions that a baby-sitter had to take care of him for an evening.

Just some stupid kid that had scared the living daylight out of him when he broke his arm, making him feel so guilty that he refused to leave his side during the whole stay at the hospital. He had even waited outside surgery like a big black hawk, making the hospital personnel _very _nervous with his menacing presence.

Just some stupid kid that was his responsibility. Just some stupid kid that he had sworn to take care of. Just Lily's stupid kid.

Just Harry.

Sighing irritably to himself, he swept over to the painting, mumbling the password and snatching the silver pendant from its place.

He would do his best.

* * *

Harry wondered if he was going to cry, but he didn't really feel like it. He was sad, but it was not a sadness that had anything to do with missing something, because he could not even remember his parents. It was just… realising that you lacked something you didn't know you had had in the first place. He did not know where he belonged anymore. And not being able to cry over his parents felt wrong as well. 

He wondered if Severus was going to comfort him, but it didn't seem like it. He would've followed him otherwise, wouldn't he? No, he wouldn't comfort him.

And now a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Even though Harry didn't address him as father, Severus was still his parent – up until just some minutes ago, he had been the only parent Harry knew he had. He was a constant safety and solace, and although he often was harsh and rarely smiled, Harry loved him, simply because he was...well, there. Never before had he asked where he came from, why he was with him. Severus took care of him, cared for him, and Harry wanted to think that he loved him, even though he never actually said anything. He rarely said anything at all, truth to be told.

Life had changed when Harry had started school just some months ago. He had gotten to meet other children, something that he rarely had done before, living isolated on the edge of a forest. But he wasn't shy; strangely enough because growing up alone had meant never being taught what shyness was. He had greeted the other children in his own simple, unaffected manner, and now he was just as much a part of the group as his classmates, even though most of them knew each other on beforehand.

Before that, his only friends – except Severus and _his_ friends – had been the snakes that lived in the vicinity of the house, which he usually talked to, though they didn't really have much to talk about. After all, snakes being quite solitary animals except during the winter's sleep, they were not used to talking that much at all.

But now he had several friends in his own age; he even had a _best_ friend.

Unfortunately, this best friend was a girl, something that some of the boys teased him about, but he liked her anyway. He really couldn't see how she was different from the boys, except from the long hair. And it was actually Hermione who had asked him about why he always called his dad by his first name. Why not call him just Dad?

Harry hadn't had an answer to that. When he came to think of it, Severus had never actually referred to himself as his father. Harry had thought it odd, and since he was a curious child he had decided to ask.

And now he had no parents, all of a sudden. It was one thing to think that he only had one, and wondering mildly at the fact that he didn't seem to have a mother, but not really being worried about it, and knowing that he had had both a father AND a mother, and had lost them both.

Harry reflected that Severus must've been a very good friend of his parents, since he had taken care of him when they were... killed. But he didn't _feel_ like just a good friend of his parents. Even though he had been told otherwise he still sort of _knew_ that Severus was his father.

It was all very confusing, and Harry sniffed, a little helplessly, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

And that was when he realised that there was someone in the doorway. He slowly lowered his hand, hope mingling with surprise inside of him. His gaze had jumped down at his lap, and he waited.

He barely heard the soft steps against the thick carpet. Severus made almost no noise at all when he walked. Then came the shuffling of someone bending down, and a hand closed in a grip on his shoulder, firm, but not unfriendly. Harry looked up at the serious face that was at a level with his now, and he suddenly felt much calmer. This was how life was supposed to be. This was how it _worked_.

"Here," Severus said, pressing a small object into his hand.

Harry looked down at it, and his brow wrinkled a bit. "A necklace?"

"It's from Remus."

Harry brightened. He liked Remus, the man that sometimes visited them, just like Andromeda, who was very kind, and Nymphandora, who Harry shamelessly idolized, and the big man called Hagrid.

"Open it," Severus urged, and an unusual gentleness seemed to have stolen its way into his voice. Harry obeyed readily, snapping the round pendant open. Surprised, he stared at the moving wizard's photos.

"Who are they?" he asked Severus, who was mentally cursing Remus for the magical photos. How was he supposed to explain that? Harry wasn't supposed to know yet! Then he went over to cursing himself. How could _he_ not have noticed? He had stared at the pictures enough times! Or at least one picture…

"Your parents."

Harry stared at the pictures, both waving happily at him. "They... they look very nice," he said helplessly, giving Severus a pleading look, as if asking for his consent. His guardian bit his teeth together with yet another mental curse.

"They were, Harry," he said shortly, trying grimly to keep his voice and gaze from wavering.

"The photos move," Harry pointed out, tapping the face of his father, who tapped back with his hand.

"It's a very complicated mechanism," Severus lied glibly. "Listen Harry, this is a very secret thing. You will not show it to anyone, do you understand?"

Harry nodded solemnly. He could keep a secret, oh, yes he could!

"Good." For the shortest of moments, a smile touched Severus' lips, before his face was once more expressionless. But the hand that some seconds later touched Harry's face was soft and gentle. "How are you?"

"Don't know," the boy replied truthfully.

And suddenly, so swiftly that Harry didn't have time to react, Severus had given him a short hug. Then he stood up, looking down at the boy with his usual stern expression. "You should sleep now, Harry."

"Yes," said the boy, because there was really no point in contradicting anyway. He resigned himself to being undressed, helped into his pyjama and having his teeth brushed, and he crawled into bed as Severus reached the door and turned out the light. Severus had a theory that it was such things as night-lamps that bred fear of darkness, and therefore Harry slept in a pitch-black room during the winters, such as now.

"Good night," piped Harry, and Severus returned the phrase, closing the door. And then he stood outside the door for some moments, before shaking his head and heading back to the living-room.

* * *

_Lily gave her husband a smug smile._

"_See! No problems."_

"_It was damn close," mumbled James sourly. His wife laughed at him, and he sighed, giving up. "Fine. He managed."_

"_James, James... You are hopeless, I hope you know that."_

_He suddenly grinned mischievously at her. "That's why you love me so much" he answered with a self-satisfied smile._

_She hit him. Not that that mattered very much in This Place, but he still look slightly hurt. It was all a matter of principles._

_Then Lily fell to her knees by the side of her son's bed, as she did every night. She gently stroked his cheek with finger, _and the boy moved a bit in his sleep, smiled, as if he felt the presence of his mother. In his right hand, he firmly clutched the silver pendant with their photographs.

"_I'm glad Remus made it for him," said James in a hushed voice._

"_Yes. It is good that he has something... something that..." The sound of her thoughts faded, and she bowed her head miserably over the shape of the child. Her red curls shielded Harry's face from view, as if she wanted to wrap him up in it, use it to protect him from a world that had so bitterly disappointed her. A ghostly tear fell from her eye _to land on Harry's face._ It glittered there, looking almost real for a few seconds, before dissolving into nothing._

_James sat down on the edge of the bed, placing one hand comfortingly at Lily's neck, the other over Harry's right hand. "He's happy. That's what's really important, right?"_

"_Yes, I know. I just... I am selfish. I've always been. And _I_ want to be the one to make him happy..."_

"_I know, Lily. Don't you think I feel the same?" He smiled grimly, shaking his head. "Who would've guessed? Snape would probably be delighted if he knew how much I envy him right now."_

_Lily laughed shakily, but soon stopped. "It's just that he...," she said, her gaze lingering lovingly at her son's peaceful face, "... he is... Harry. My Harry. _Our_ Harry. It ought to be us. I gave birth to him. But I can't hold him, I can't touch him, I can't even make him notice that I am here…"_

"_Oh, but I think he does," said James comfortingly. Lily just shook her head; as much as she wanted that to be true, she couldn't believe it. But James wouldn't give up. "We watch over him," he said mildly, smiling down at his son. "We care for him. We love him, Lily. Don't you think he notices that? That he somehow knows? Not that he really thinks about it, just that he is more... safe..."_

_She sighed, her hand tracing the fatal, lightning-shaped scar. She didn't want to disappoint James with her lack of belief. "I want to think so. But… but even if that is true… it's not the same."_

"_No," said James sadly, "I know." And Lily felt even worse because she was making him feel so bad too. It was just so hard to believe that their invisible presence was making any difference; that their unheard voices somehow were listened to; that their unnoticed touches brought some kind of comfort._

_That Harry felt, somehow, that he was loved by them._

"_He seems to be doing great in school," James said, in a brave attempt to break the melancholic silence. "Not always as attentive as he should be, I suppose, but he is still so young. He'll get around."_

_Lily smiled, she couldn't help it. A touch of wistful pride made her face light up. "I know. And he is so wise and sensible around his friends."_

_James nodded seriously. "He's a good lad. And he has that girl Hermione to help keep his feet on the ground once in a while."_

"_And I think he's good for her too. Well, she can really be a little know-it-all sometimes, to tell the truth."_

_James shrugged. "She'll grow out of it." And then he added, with a small smirk, "You did, didn't you?"_

"_What do you mean by _that_, James Potter?" Lily growled dangerously._

_James laughed at her dark expression. "Oh, Lily, you really could be a pain in the foot, you know that! You were absolutely brilliant, but you spent so much time playing at being a grownup that you sometimes could be downright unbearable."_

"_Just because you and you friends never could act your age!" she snapped back, looking hurt._

"_Lily, dearest," said James soothingly, "we _did_ act our age. We were eleven-year-old boys. Of course we were horribly childish. And I_ still_ loved you from the first moment you told me to shut my face, my adorable little wiseacre."_

_She snorted at him, but still let him wrap his arms around her. "This is our son, Lily," he mumbled in her ear. "And no matter what has happened, we still have this: We love him, and we love each other. Once upon a time, I was a bullying prat, and you were sometimes an overbearing little prissy. But that's all over now. We're here. Harry's safe. We haven't failed, after all."_

And Harry slept soundly in his bed, a small smile still on his face, the fingers on his left hand stretched towards the spot in the air where, if you looked really closely, you could catch a glint of green and hazel eyes in the feeble moonlight.

* * *

"Hi Hermione," Harry said happily, bouncing down beside his friend. She scowled half-heartedly at him. 

"I am trying to do my homework," she said with what Harry though of as the grownup-voice. It was the voice that she used when she tried to correct his behaviour. Harry gave an exaggerated sigh.

"But you can already draw a big 'M'-"

"Capital, it's called, actually."

"-and a small 'm', so why do you do it?"

The girl scowled some more, but obviously understood the logic after having thought about it for a while. That was a good thing about Hermione. She might be obsessed with following rules, but only if she could find a logical reason for it. Thus, she carefully put away her notebook in her bag and directed her full attention at Harry.

"Listen, I've gotta tell you something really, really important," Harry said. "_And_ it's a really big secret."

Hermione didn't seem duly impressed. "It's not something stupid, is it?" she demanded, looking rather suspicious.

"What do you mean, 'stupid'?" Harry asked, affronted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_'Stupid' _as in we're going to get in trouble for it."

"No, no," Harry waved his hand impatiently. "It is just that Severus sort of told me not to tell, but I don't think he meant you. I mean, you're my best friend."

"Will he get angry?"

"No he won't," said Harry patiently, "'cause we won't tell him."

"That's lying," said Hermione accusingly.

"No it isn't. 'S just not telling. It's not the same. I mean… If I haven't done my homework, and nobody asks about it and I don't tell, then I haven't lied, _really_ lied, have I?"

Hermione thought about it for a while, and then reluctantly shook her head. She didn't like it, but it was hard to argue with it. "Suppose not. So what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Harry grinned triumphantly and hauled the pendant out of his pocket. "Look!" he said excitedly.

Hermione's brow knotted up. "It's just a necklace." she pointed out sceptically, obviously not impressed.

"No, but look inside," said Harry, opening it and shoving it under his friend's nose. She looked down on it curiously, and then gasped.

"They move!" she said, as the redheaded woman in one of the pictures tilted her head to the side and winked at her. "How do they do that?"

"Yeah, s'a mechanism of some kind," Harry said, shrugging a bit impatiently. She was missing the whole point. "Guess who they are, though."

"Some relatives?" guessed Hermione, eyeing the pictures suspiciously.

Harry looked a bit taken aback. "How did you know that?"

Hermione poked the woman, who laughed silently up at her. "She's got the same eyes as you. Dark green. Like bottles."

"Well," Harry said, trying to sound offhand even though his stomach cringed and twisted itself in a knot, "they are my parents."

Hermione stared at him, her mouth open. Eventually, she said, "But Severus is your dad," in a very feeble sort of voice.

"No. He takes care of me. They're dead." Harry felt his throat tighten and looked away, blinking several times. He didn't want to cry about it again.

"Dead?" whispered Hermione, her eyes wide. Slowly, she took the pendant from his hand and looking closer at the pictures. "How sad. They look so nice."

Harry nodded, but didn't reply; he didn't trust his voice. Eventually, after a long, strained silence, he said, "Severus… Severus told me he was a good friend of theirs. That's why he's taking care of me now." He hadn't said it in quite so many words, but Harry was still convinced that it was true.

"_Moderately," said James dryly, but was silenced by a hard look from his wife._

"So he's like…your godfather?" said Hermione, _and James snorted viciously, but said nothing._

"Yes," Harry nodded slowly. "My godfather."

"But… he's your step-father then, isn't he?" Hermione wondered hesitantly. As Harry once more nodded, she tilted her head to one side, thinking. "Aren't step-parents supposed to be mean? Severus is nice."

"That's just in fairytales, then," Harry decided. "It can't be for real. Because if Severus is a step-father then they are nice." This was said with such finality that Hermione didn't argue with it. She believed it.

* * *

Once every week, they went down to the small village that was just a twenty minute bus ride from their house. Harry took the bus three stations further every morning to get to school, and when he left for the day, Severus was always waiting for him at the school gates. Some of the children went down to play in the village after school, always supervised by one or several of their parents, of course. But Severus wouldn't allow him to do that. Harry had silently resigned himself to his fate, even though he secretly harboured some resentment over the unfairness of it. 

Thus it was that these short trips to town were the only chances he got to see more of the place than what he could glimpse on his way past in the bus. And since the object of these trips was shopping, his experience was limited to the few shops in town. However, he still loved and looked forward to these occasions.

Severus, on the other hand, was nervous. In the beginning, he had just been slightly uneasy, walking about with Harry in the open. He had gotten used to it. But six months ago, he had almost walked straight into Lucius Malfoy as he was on his way home from a short visit at the library to return a book that Harry had managed to slip under his bed and then forget. Hiding behind a parked truck until the man had passed, he must've made for a very odd sight indeed, and it was a blessing that the street had been empty.

After that, he had seen his former friend in town a couple of times. He had considered moving, but decided against it. He told himself that he was comfortable where he was, but in reality, he didn't want to uproot Harry when he so clearly enjoyed himself in this new school. So now, every trip to town was absolutely nerve-wrecking. He would've left Harry at home, but he didn't like leaving him home alone either. So while it was unwise that they found out who was taking care of Harry, Severus decided that he'd rather have him around to keep an eye on him, to protect him.

But it wasn't only that. As much as he hated to admit it, he was frightened of them. Them. The former Death Eaters. He had been one of them, after all. He knew exactly what they were capable of. What he had been capable of, and what he largely still was capable of. Not much had changed, not really.

The Mark wasn't showing any signs of ever fully fading, even if it now was so pale that you had to look for it to find it. He hated it. Not what it represented, but the way it branded him, robbed him of the freedom of forgetting who he had been. There had been times before, when Harry had still been very young, when he had panicked at the mere sight of it. He had tried to carve it away, peeling the skin from his arm and watching it disappear beneath the blood. Once he had tried to burn it away. But no matter what he did, it would always be there once he healed, a shadow of guilt tainting his skin.

He sometimes wondered if he perhaps was just imagining it, if the mark was only in his head, after all. That it was gone by now. But no, because that would mean that he was going mad, and he refused to believe that. He had far too many reasons to keep sane.

This time, Harry met a friend from school outside the groceries store. They started talking, and after a while Harry turned around and pleaded with Severus for permission to stay outside. Severus was just going to tell the boy not to be stupid and that they had to hurry up before the shop closed, when he felt the other boy's – David, was it? – mother's eyes upon him.

Severus never joined in any activities held by the school to allow the parents to get to know each other. He kept to himself, resenting the thought of having to be forced to be friendly with a bunch of strangers just because Harry happened to be in the same class as their children. He knew that the other parents took in turn to watch the children while they played together down in the village, but since didn't want Harry under the supervision of strangers, he had never volunteered for it himself.

Now the strange woman was watching him through narrowed eyes, and Severus could clearly detect dislike in them. It was easy enough to imagine why. She must've noticed that Harry wasn't allowed to join the other kids after school. Perhaps her son had told her that Severus always picked Harry up, and that he was never allowed to spend time at a friend's house. And so, she had drawn her own conclusions. Severus was obviously already deemed a bad father, and she just needed some evidence to prove it. He was sure he could handle gossips talking about him and Harry, but if they got authorities involved… if some people started questioning his guardianship… Was the Order going to let him keep Harry then? He doubted it. And _he wasn't going to give them that satisfaction._ Not then, not now.

So he nodded curtly and told Harry very firmly to stay where he was, before hurrying inside the shop, hoping that Harry was going to do as he was told while he rushed to find everything he needed.

But David soon had to go, and Harry was left alone and increasingly bored. Maybe he should go into the store and find Severus? But he knew what the store looked like, he had been there probably a hundred times, and it wasn't very interesting at all. So instead, he started to poke around the street outside, careful of not straying too far, in case Severus would return.

Suddenly, someone turned around the corner of one of the larger houses, strolling down the road towards him. It was a very small someone. Harry guessed that he was his age, or a bit younger, and wondered why he was walking around all on his own. He had never seen him before, so he didn't think he could be one of the village kids.

The boy was small and rather thin, with a pale face and narrow grey eyes. He was also wearing really strange clothes, and was watching everything around him with a distant sort of curiosity and fascination, as one would regard animals at a zoo.

"Hello," Harry said, determined to find out who the boy was, and if he had run away from his parents.

The boy's eyes jumped to him, widening in surprise; the same surprise Harry supposed he would feel if one of the giraffes at the previously mentioned zoo would suddenly talk to him. He also noticed the other boy looking vaguely scared and rather guilty, a feeling Harry associated with doing things that he knew Severus wouldn't approve of.

"I am not allowed to talk to muggles," the boy said defiantly, shying away.

"Talk to wossitsname?" said Harry, wrinkling his brow.

"You don't know anything, do you?" said the boy, immediately scornful as he sensed his upper hand.

"Oh yes I do!" replied Harry hotly, growing angry at the boy's snotty attitude. "I am going to school, actually, and my father has taught me lots of things!"

Just as quickly as he had lashed out, the stranger now backed away, going a bit pale. He looked at Harry like he was some kind of dangerous animal. "You didn't have to get angry," he said shakily, pushing a strand of almost white hair out of his face with a hand that was trembling.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, but then shrugged. He seemed to have stopped being a prat for the time being. "I'm sorry," he said, and the boy seemed to relax, even smiled a bit feebly. Sure now of his own upper hand – the stranger seemed rather unsure of himself – he stuck out a hand toward him. "My name is Harry Snape. What is yours?"

First, the boy stared in incomprehension at the offered hand, but then he gingerly took it, as if he expected Harry to bite him. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Draco," said Harry, but in a way that rather seemed to suggest that it better not stop being nice.

"Nice to meet you too," Draco mumbled, his eyes downcast. Yet when they let go of each other's hands, it felt as if some kind of barrier had been torn down; some great distance had been crossed.

Harry heard the door to the store spring open, and turned around to see Severus stepping out. His step-father looked around, franticly, and Harry could see the blood draining from his already pale cheeks. Alarmed, he raised his hand and waved. "I'm here!" he hollered, and Severus spun around, his black eyes fixing on Harry.

Harry didn't see the endless relief that made his step-father's face soften for a short moment, for he had already turned back to Draco. Or rather, to where Draco previously had stood. Looking around in bewilderment, he could see a black-clad shape topped with white-blond hair whipping around the corner of a building and disappearing.

A white hand grabbed his shoulder in a vice-grip. "Didn't I tell you to stay put?" Severus snarled, his eyes flashing angrily.

"But I…" Harry's voice faltered in face of his step-father's fury. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, staring miserably at his feet.

"We're going home. Now!" Still with Harry's shoulder in an almost painful grip, Severus marched Harry down the street while he scolded him in an angry whisper. Harry wondered if he was going to mention meeting Draco Malfoy, but decided against it. Severus was angry enough as it was, and Harry had a feeling that hearing that he had been talking to strangers wasn't going to make it any better.

* * *

**A/N: **Ta-da! I'm especially pleased with the last bit. 


	3. Truths

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for being so patient with me. It feels fantastic to be working with this fiction again, even if it is slow going.

Anyway, there are some parts of this chapter that I am wonderfully happy with. I'm very smug right now, and hey, everyone has the right to be once in a while.

* * *

**Chapter three**

**Truths**

* * *

Draco of course wasn't going to mention the encounter with the other boy to his father. Lucius had made it very clear that he was going to be very displeased with him if he so much as looked at a muggle. And father being displeased was never much fun. He'd be forced to remind Draco once again that every time he disobeyed, he was shaming the Malfoy name, disgracing his noble family with his childish and stupid behaviour. Draco wasn't likely to ever forget this, but every time his father told him it seemed less and less likely that he was ever going to be able to redeem himself for everything he had already done.

Luckily enough for Draco, Lucius was still inside, and thus hadn't noticed his son wandering off. Lucius always took his time when he visited the lady in the house, Draco had noticed. Of course, he hadn't known where his father went before. He had just noticed that his father started disappearing, usually with claims of having to attend to business. And mother started acting strange as well. She became irritable and restless, and sometimes had long spells of migraine and had to shut herself in her room. When Draco had asked his mother about this, she had said such strange things, things Draco didn't understand. When he later had asked his father what mother had meant, it had resulted in that Draco now had to follow him on these errands of business. Always to the same house. Always to the same lady.

'Adulterer'and 'hussy'were words his mother had used. Draco didn't know exactly what they meant, but he had a nagging suspicion that father wasn't discussing work with the pretty lady at all.

However, Draco had other things to occupy his mind right now. Like muggles.

His father had forbidden him to talk to them, had said that they were 'uncivilized and brutish'. Draco wasn't sure what _that_ meant either, but he had a hunch that it had something to do with bad manners. But this muggle had been… nice. Or at least more interesting than his own friends. Blaise was really boring most of the time, the only thing he liked was his stupid piano. Theo could be fun at times, but he did rather creepy things sometimes, like when he slammed his dog's tail in the door. And Gregory and Vincent were just _stupid_. And Draco naturally didn't play with girls. He was no sissy. _Actually._

So maybe his father was wrong? It was unlikely, of course. His father was generally right about most things; everybody said so. His mother used to before too. No matter what it was about, her answer had always been, "Listen to your father, Draco". And then father started going away on business with the pretty lady, and mother's head started aching, and she no longer talked to Draco except to tell him to be quiet.

Except today. Today she had grabbed his shoulder when he was on his way to follow Lucius out and she had bent close to him, whispering through lips that had gone all white, "This is what it means to be a Malfoy, Draco. This is your honourable heritage. I hope you're proud of it.' And then father became angry and said something about asps and poison that Draco didn't understand at all, but he understood the part of not involving Draco in whatever it was. And then they were both shouting at each other, and even though Draco put his hands over his ears and pushed as hard as he could, he could still hear them. Finally, mother burst into tears and fled, swaying on her high heels. Father said nothing for a while, just stared after mother looking grim, but then he shook his head and told Draco that it was time to go.

Draco didn't like father when he shouted at mother, and he didn't like him when he had to tell Draco what a Disgrace he was. He liked his father when he was proud of him, and when he told stories about his ancestors and about how great the Malfoy family was. He liked him when he talked about how they both were chosen to fight for the sake of the wizarding world, to rid it from the filth of mudbloods and half-breeds. He imagined himself when he was older, fighting terrifying beasts made of mud and snarling werewolves, and was proud to have such a brave father.

So what right did that stupid muggle boy have to not act like he was supposed to?

* * *

Narcissa walked restlessly through empty rooms, her wide black skirts making a melancholic, soft swishing sound as they swept over the cold marble floor. Everything about Malfoy Manor was cold. The walls may as well have been carved out of ice, the windows glittered like frost, the air was like a breath of winter itself, the fires never gave any warmth, and the colourful people that sometimes graced these halls with their pristine, gemlike beauty had minds made of the coldest hours of the darkest night on the most empty of all worlds.

She was no different.

She was a frozen flower among many, embracing the cold wind that killed it, for it kept her beauty perfect and unmarred for ever. She never faltered, she never made so much as a false step in the intricate social dance that was the world in which she thrived.

Such a flower will fear the warmth of a beating heart, because with warmth comes the death of the frost. The hard, sharp ice turns into meek, yielding water, and the flower, no longer capable of standing on its own, weeps itself away and disappears, melting like the ice that killed it, the ice that it thought would make it immortal. And its beauty will slip into memory, until memory itself also melts away, and the winds in which the flower once swayed so flawlessly carries away the echo of its last dismayed cry.

Long she had tried to still her own beating heart, to bury doubts and disappointments under reasonability and rationality. But this humiliation was too much for even her to stomach. She could feel her heart beating painfully against her ribs, as rage chased her through the corridors of the manor; sooner or later, it was going to catch up with her.

And as the heat of rage melted the ice from her eyes – frozen tears that she had almost forgotten about – she started seeing things that stirred her traitorous heart even more.

Narcissa had never felt such pride as when her son, the Malfoy heir was born. But children don't consist only of the hopes and expectations of their parents; they are living beings. Loud, cumbersome and dependant human beings. Narcissa soon found her son to be a lot of tiring and trying work, and thus did what she always did with such tasks. She handed him over to the house-elves to take care of. Sure, she sometimes talked to him when he got old enough to be interesting, and Lucius was quick to start teaching him all about being a Malfoy, and they both spoiled him outrageously. But now that her self-obsessed little world had crumbled, an uncomfortable truth lay before her eyes: They had neglected their son, ignored him until he was old enough to fulfil their dream of what he ought to be like. She more than Lucius. He had at least made an effort to raise the child, even if that might be caused by his never-ending craving for control.

And as she now watched her son, she didn't see a happy child. This filled her with a guilt she couldn't handle, couldn't control, and she fled into her room only to discover that trying to escape from Draco just made it worse. Sleeping-draughts, however, would drown the ache for a while, and so she claimed headaches to be able to sink into blissful oblivion in the safety of her restroom.

She wanted to help the little stranger living in her house, but she didn't know how to. And so her will to help turned into anger and frustration, like when she had lashed out at him today, or to distress and guilt, voiced in feverishly whispered prayers during the darkest hour of the night.

But there was no one out there to hear her prayers, for she had never believed in anything else than herself, and she never would. Still a selfish, angry woman, but a mother also, she would curse her faith and blame everyone but herself in one breath, then cry over her own flawed being in the next.

She sunk finally into a chair facing a window which twilight had coloured blue, closing her eyes to give rest to a mind which jealousy and guilt had stained in red and black. Suddenly she yearned for so much; her head was full of childish dreams that she had long since abandoned in favour of the life that was now hers. Another woman had taken that life from her, probably without even knowing it, and now Narcissa wanted all the things she had lost when she decided to be Mrs Malfoy.

One by one, the stars came alight outside the window. Soon they would be here. First the stars, then Lucius. Always trailing the scent of a stranger into her home, or so she imagined. And Draco would be tired and probably hungry too, but there would be food for him down in the kitchen and a freshly made bed waiting. The house-elves knew their job by now.

Always the stars first, Lucius second, ever since that other woman appeared. Narcissa had learned the routines of her new life, the waiting and the wandering. Pain is not a good teacher, but an effective one.

The house felt empty, even though she knew it wasn't. The house elves wandered from room to room, making sure that everything was set for the arrival of Master Lucius and Young Master Draco. They had learnt as well. And they had also learnt the price of making even the smallest noise, anything that would upset the delicate Mistress, so they padded silently along and spoke only in whispers when they had to. And Narcissa suddenly wished that she could hear them; suddenly she was scared of being all alone in this big, empty building with its cold, echoing halls. She opened her mouth to call for one of them, but then closed it again, leaning her head against her tightly clenched hands. No, oh no, she couldn't, her pride wouldn't allow her; she'd die before she sought comfort with those miserable creatures. But she wished… she wished for noise from the kitchen, a chair scraping against floor in a far-away room, whispered voices conferring about some trivial, earthly matter… something, anything, if only a really expensive vase shattering against the floor, something she could yell at them for, something Lucius could get really upset about when he came home…

A wild idea few through her mind, and she sprung to her feet, grasping a Ming vase from its pedestal beside the window. She could crush it, crush it and blame the house-elves, they wouldn't argue, they'd probably believe her… she could punish them and feel better… She was grasping the porcelain so tightly that her knuckles whitened, so tightly that she was afraid that it was going to shatter in her hands. She stared for some moment at the beautiful patterns, the exquisite handiwork, and she thought: _This is me. This is all that I've become. Something beautiful standing parade in his home. And he doesn't want that. He wants something that's alive. That's why he goes to her. But I did this for him! Can't he see that I did this for him? I became what I thought he wanted me to be._

Suddenly blinded by tears and anger, she lifted the vase and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with an ear-splitting noise, porcelain flying everywhere like shell splinter, leaving faint white dust on the wall where it hit. Narcissa gasped as a real headache clenched her skull in an iron fist; there were tears on her cheeks, and she couldn't remember when she had cried the last time. Maybe it was the tears that made her head hurt.

She wanted to run away from there, run like a frightened criminal from the scene of crime, but she didn't. She walked. Slowly, placing each step exactly in front of the next, forcing her breath into a calm rhythm, painting a thin sheen of normality over her dishevelled hair and red-rimmed eyes, over cheeks that shone with moisture.

She finally stopped in front of the door to their room. She looked at it for a while. They both slept in this room, their breath and heartbeats mingling to become one; nobody could guess that behind this door, a rupture had opened in her life, effectively taking Lucius from her. She hadn't even realised that she loved him until she felt the pain of not being able to do so anymore. And now she wandered the corridors; she waited; she hid in the heavy landscapes of induced sleep; she hurt the child even though he was the only thing she could love – _because _he was the only thing she could love; and now she was breaking vases just to know that she could still make Lucius feel something… A strange thought crossed her mind: _I have crushed myself._ And she started to laugh.

It was intended to be a laugh, anyway.

It would've been, if it hadn't been for the tears.

* * *

He remembered, with difficulty, the word 'darkness', and he applied it to the room around him. He knew that this place was always shadowy, always dark, but this was the darkness of… something else. He couldn't remember. The word 'night' had once been beautiful to him, and so he had forgotten.

His given name was difficult to remember. He thought he might've liked it, liked what it had meant to him, but whatever that was, it was too big to remember. However, he had clung to his name for a very long time now, repeating it to himself every day. And when it became too difficult to remember as a human, he changed into the other form, the one that he couldn't remember the name of anymore, but that made the pain easier to cope with.

There were some things that he wished he could forget, though, things that floated to the surface of his mind every time he tried to hold on to one of the precious few things of beauty that he could still remember, drowning them out.

Like his family name, for example. Black. Black like the cold cell that was his whole world.

Yes, he used to be… something… light in their darkness…

For a moment, he could almost grasp something of his old self, of what he had once been, but the warmth of the thought flickered and died, fire without air to feed on, and it left him longing for more, hopelessly, vainly, for the security of memory and sense of identity, for the person he had been before this happened to him. The warmth never lasted for very long, and soon it was overrun by all the dark and painful things he tried to hold back.

_Innocent!_

_Betrayed!_

The thoughts echoed like thunderclaps in his head, and they brought with them a storm of memories. One of them seized him, forcing itself onto him, violating his mind. He tried to fight it away, to drown it out, for the memories were even worse than the dreams he dreamt here when he couldn't stay awake anymore. But it was pointless, for there was nothing left to fight with, no strength in his mind.

First came the face of a man, and it was a man that he had once known and loved. He reached for a name, but it wasn't there; just tantalizing hints of what this man had been. The colours red and gold, a piece of old parchment, a classroom, a ramshackle old building and, strongest of all, the round, pale face of the full moon.

He didn't know what this man had been like, but imprinted in the memory was the knowledge that he'd never seen him like this before. So angry, so tortured, so full of endless sorrow. He felt emotions he didn't understand; a terrible anger of his own and a hollow emptiness that he'd come to associate with the place he was now, with Azkaban. He could feel the shape of words in his mind, words he wanted to tell this man, but at the same time he heard himself laughing and knew he couldn't stop. It was as if all the anguish that he felt took form in this laughter, hollow and screeching laughter that wouldn't stop, and he knew he was laughing because whatever this sorrow was, it was too big and horrible for him to be able to cry. Crying was admitting that it was really happening, and he couldn't do that. So he laughed and laughed in mock happiness over the hole in front of his feet, the smoke in the air, the people screaming, and the knowledge of being a killer.

Why? Why had he killed? Had he even killed?

It all had something to do with another face, a thin face with eyes that danced and a mouth that always had that half-smile pulling at the right corner of the lips. There were once again the colours red and gold, and a broomstick, that tantalizing piece of parchment, and the magnificent figure of a leaping stag. And... a woman. Yes. Red hair tied in a haphazard knot in the nape of her neck, green eyes that glinted mischievously, flowery robes that followed the curve of a bulging belly... she was pregnant...

These memories should be happy, but how could they be? These two people were lost. Dead the man he had admired and loved, faded the beauty of the woman that had been like his sister...

_Peter!_

The prisoner was suddenly shaking with fury in his cell; growling like a mad dog he flailed at the walls and floor with his hands, cutting and bruising them. Tears filled his eyes, but it wasn't the pain he caused himself that brought them there. It was guilt.

_My fault..._

He remembered a young man standing facing him, the cold sun of autumn beating down upon their heads. He was blaming _him,_ blaming Sirius, and at first he thought he had gone mad. But just when he was about to lower his wand, the man dropped his voice, and in a whisper only Sirius could hear, Peter spoke:

"_I never asked for this! I never asked to fight in this war." _Though he was whispering, his voice was shrill and strained with emotion. _"What was I supposed to do? Don't you fear anything? You walk around with 'Enemy of the Dark Lord' written in your foreheads, waiting for him to kill you! I'm not stupid, Sirius! You were fighting a lost battle! You were all going to die. And _I didn't want to die_." _His face twisted in a snarl, tears leaking from his eyes._ "I didn't want to do this. But I'm not going to sacrifice myself."_ Sirius raised his wand, and Peter backed away, still whispering._ "I learned early that life isn't fair, Sirius. Now it is time you learn that too."_

And then the world exploded, and Sirius knew he hadn't been fast enough. He had his wand raised, but the words of the killing spell were still resting unspoken on his lips. And now he was going to die.

Before the light finally disappeared, he thought he heard Peter's voice, whispering in his ear:

"_Poor old Padfoot..."_

And when he could see again, there was a huge crater before him where Peter had stood, and people around him were screaming in panic. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. He stared at the hole before his feet and saw something there; a finger resting in a pool of blood. And laughter came to him from the hole in the ground and the hole in his heart, seized his body and shook him like a toy in the hands of a reckless child. There were people shouting at him, people seizing his arms, people pointing wands at him, but he just kept on laughing. And there was that first face, and but somehow it was also the face of a wolf, for the eyes that were supposed to be golden-brown were bright yellow, the hands reaching for him had _claws. _The teeth that were bared in a feral growl were not the teeth of a human, and the anger that burned in his eyes was not human either, but the raw and uncaring blood thirst and vengeance of... of something else that... that... oh _Remus_...

The prisoner clawed at his own face, howling with grief, and he was crawling over the floor in a desperate attempt to escape; escape himself, escape the memories, escape the guilt, escape the pain of losing a life he couldn't remember, escape the voice that even now whispered, whispered in his ear...

"_Poor old Padfoot..."_

But his howl of pain was only one of many in this god forgotten place, born and bred in the darkest parts of the human mind, nurtured both by the part of us that sees monsters in every shadow, and a selfish desire to be safe, cost whatever it may.

In Greek mythology, when Pandora opens her box, we learn that hope is the last thing that leaves a human being. But in truth, hope is what _makes_ us human. And when you take hope away, we can no longer be. That is when our soul leaves us.

But the broken being that once was Sirius Black had one last resort, one last way of saving what was left of his mind; he changed it. He turned into a dog, a dog that could not dwell upon tomorrow and therefore couldn't feel hope. What we don't have can never be taken away from us. An animal knows only what is at the present, and will endure what is happening to it simply because it does not know of anything better.

But animals still feel pain, they feel loss, and it was a whining, trembling dog that crept on its belly to a corner of the cell to wait for sleep. But sleep seemed far away, and outside the prison of Azkaban, the wind howled with mad laughter, and the waters of the cold grey sea whispered endlessly.

"_Poor old Padfoot..."_

* * *

"Harry."

At the edge of the garden, leaning against the fence that surrounded it, stood a man. He was quite tall and very thin, and his face had a waxy paleness to it that looked unnatural and unhealthy in the bright sunlight. But the smile tugging at his lips was warm and full of humour. Harry gave a cry of joy, jumping to his feet. The snake he had been talking to slithered away, deeply offended, and Harry made a mental note of putting out some food for her later, before promptly forgetting all about her.

"Uncle Remus!" he exclaimed, running to greet the guest. His eyes roved quickly over his uncle's face, looking for the usual cuts and bruises, but while there were a few of them, Harry was pleased to see that they had a faded look about them, as if they were almost healed. This, of course, was a sign that the next full moon was approaching, and had Harry known what the state of his uncle implied, he wouldn't have been so happy. But he was unaware of Remus' condition, and Remus intended for things to stay that way for as long as it was possible. He didn't want to burden the boy with more sorrows; god knew that there would be enough of them in his life.

Remus, who had put all thoughts of full moons and wolves far from his mind at the time being, lifted Harry off the ground in a tight hug, and while the boy squirmed and made perfunctory complaints, he still returned the embrace.

"You're looking w..." But the words died in his throat as his eyes locked at something around Harry's neck. His smile faded.

"What?" Harry demanded, a bit worried by this sudden change. Remus didn't answer at first, but gently put Harry back on the ground, falling instead to his knees, so that his eyes were almost level with Harry's. One hand stretched out to touch the pendant hanging around his neck, but then he winced slightly and pulled away from the touch. The whole time, he kept his eyes fixed on Harry's face, and a small frown dug lines in his forehead and made him look older.

Harry suddenly remembered. "It was from you, Severus said it was," he said. And then, anxiously, as Remus still didn't answer, "You don't think I should have it? I promise I won't lose it, I really promise I won't!"

Remus blinked, slowly coming out of his reverie. "What? Oh, of course you should have it. It's yours, after all. I just..." He drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst. "Severus talked to you, then? About... about your parents?"

Harry nodded, smiling a smile conveyed both pride and worry. His eyes were wide and questioning, as if he expected to be told that he had done something wrong, but nonetheless, Remus felt that he needed to press on.

"What did he tell you?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he _was_ sure that he needed to.

Harry thought for a moment, biting his lip as he concentrated on remembering and formulating all of it into a coherent sentence. "That they are dead," he said finally, but this didn't really cover it, so after a while he added: "They're dead because a mean man killed them. And that he was a friend of theirs. And that they were nice."

Remus smiled at Harry, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. He had actually been worried – no, more than worried; he'd been almost certain that Severus would've said something about them that would soil Harry's memory of his parents for ever. Lily... well, Remus didn't know what he thought of her; he supposed that he didn't detest her that badly, but James... James was a completely different matter. He wondered what James would've said if he had been the one to take care of Severus' child, and came to the conclusion that he would be noble enough to conceal the truth. But that Severus would show the same kind of decency was... unexpected.

_But it's not about James,_ he decided. _It's about Harry. And I know he cares about Harry. He doesn't want to hurt him._

Standing up, Remus ruffled Harry's hair. "Believe me, Harry, when I say that I never met better people than your father and mother. And I never met a pair of parents that loved their son more than they did."

Harry fingered the amulet. "You were their friend too, weren't you? That's why I got this from you."

"Yes, Harry. I was their friend."

"Could you... Could you please, _please_ tell me about them? Because I don't think Severus wants to. I think he's really sad about them. Not I don't think you're not sad," he added hurriedly, anxious that he might've hurt Remus' feelings. "But people are sort of different when they're sad. And I thought maybe you could... But you don't have to if you don't want to." Harry bit his lower lip, hope and anxiety mingling in the pleading gaze that he bestowed on his uncle.

Remus smiled, he couldn't help himself. "I tell you what. How about we both sit down in the garden, you can go fetch something for us to eat in the kitchen, and I can tell you all you want to know about your parents? Good?"

Harry nodded and ran ahead, and Remus slowly followed. He knew this was going to be painful, even more so because he couldn't let Harry see the pain it caused him. But Harry deserved to know, and James and Lily deserved to be remembered. So for the first time in a very long time, he allowed the memories to rush forward from the dark places in his mind where he usually bound them with iron and blood and tears.

This was the greatest gift he could give to Harry.

They sat for several hours, Remus recalling various anecdotes from his youth – always making sure to not mention Hogwarts or magic, and keeping Sirius as far from his mind and his stories as possible – and Harry listing in wide-eyed fascination. Remus saw Severus watching them from the window, his face unreadable and hard, but he didn't interrupt him. And Remus realised that he actually must know how important this was to Harry, to hear the story of his parents so that he could learn to love them and be proud of them, even if he didn't remember them. And since Severus couldn't give this to Harry, he had to trust Remus, no matter what the two of them thought of each other.

Just as Remus trusted Severus to take care of Harry.

_Maybe we've finally grown up_, Remus thought, and he smiled wryly to himself.


	4. Two worlds

**A/N:** It makes me so happy that everyone seems to like the new version of the fic so much. Thank you all for being so full of awesome. Everytime I see there is a new review I do a little dance of joy. Thank you!

**

* * *

Chapter four**

**Two worlds**

* * *

The morning light was soft and radiant, and it made the white-blonde hair of the boy shine like a halo. In undisturbed sleep, the ghost of a dream smile made his small face relax, smoothing out the worry-lines that otherwise marred it. Narcissa watched him, wrestling with the huge and terrible affection that rose in a boiling, choking wave in her chest and arrived in her eyes like tears. Her love for him was making her ill, twisting inside her like a dark storm of words she didn't know how to speak, in gestures of care and concern that hesitation and insecurity turned crippled and useless before they could do any good. He was so small and so unfinished, she didn't know what to do about him. What did a child want? What did he need? Nobody had ever told her. Maybe you were supposed to just... know. But how could she do that?

She'd never been taught to take care of anyone but herself, never been taught to look after anyone else's interests.

Draco twisted in his sleep, his face now serious and a bit cold. She shuddered. There was a ghost in her son's bed...

"You look like your father," she told the boy, the ghost, in a whisper. "He was eleven when I first met him. I was five. Bella..." Her voice faltered, and came back weakened by sorrow. "My sister... she was eight." She didn't mention the other sister, the oldest sister. She had been fifteen by then, and already on her way somewhere else. Somewhere they couldn't follow. "It was us and the Rosier kids, the Lestrange brothers... our cousins too. Sirius was there mostly because Regulus was always trailing after us, even though he was only three. Back then, he was so protective." She shook her head, memory chasing through her mind. "Lucius was the leader, even though Rodolphus was one year older than him. Rhoddy was much shorter, of course, but it wasn't about that. Lucius knew how to give orders, and even more important, _he knew how to be obeyed. _He never forgot that, of course."

She sighed, walking into the room and over to the window, gazing out over blossoming lilacs and the riotous greenery that sprawled over the vast garden. A peacock gave her an unintelligent, half-crazed bird stare from a tree and dived for cover. "We knew that we were going to get married, of course. Mother had explained it all to me. I protested that he was a big kid, but she just laughed and said that in a few years, that wouldn't matter anymore. She was right, of course. I fell in love with him when I was thirteen, when he was nineteen. He just thought I was a silly girl. That he'd played with me and my sister when we were younger was something he denied. Only sissies play with girls." She sighed, not without bitterness. "I liked your father when he was a sissy, Draco. I liked him for real, liked him as a friend. Not as a silly girl, dumb with admiration of the handsome boy she would once marry. Of course," she said, a wry smile pulling at her lips, "when I turned sixteen, your father wasn't that bothered by me being a silly girl anymore. My mother had been right. Eleven years later, him being a big boy didn't matter anymore. We started going out, which was the polite way of saying that everybody turned a blind eye to him taking my clothes off and making a big girl out of me. And when I was seventeen, we married. I was so much in love with him, and he worshipped the ground I walked on."

She lifted her hand to her hair, loosening the tight bun she kept it in, and she let it fall like a wave of silver-gold, slightly curling strands around her neck. She didn't wear the severe layer of makeup that she usually put on, it was too early, and she suspected that she really must look quite dishevelled and wild right now. Still, who was there to see her? Lucius was gone. Again.

"We had... difficulties. I didn't get pregnant, didn't bloom out in childbearing fullness the moment he touched me without prevention spells. At first, they thought I was barren, just like Be... like my sister, who'd had to bear the shame of not being able to produce an heir." She didn't say it out loud, even though her son was sound asleep, but in her heart she knew that that had been what broke her sister, opened a crack that would just grow and grow as she got more and more involved with the Death Eaters. That, and the deep unfairness in that Andromeda had become pregnant as soon as that filthy mudblood husband of hers looked at her.

"But I wasn't barren. Lucius and I kept trying and trying, he believed in me even if no one else did, and I wasn't barren. You should have seen my parents when I told them I was pregnant..." A small, wistful smile played on her lips, as she remembered her mother's joyful laughter, her father's silent tears. "And then I had you, and..." she was about to say something about the pride she had felt, but then bit her tongue bloody to keep it silent. No. She was going to forget. "And I loved you," she said instead, softly. "I loved you from the first moment I looked upon you. I am not a good mother, but I have always – _always _– loved you." Her voice choked on tears, and she fell silent.

* * *

"Mother?" said a sleepy, small voice. She turned around, and there was laughter in her eyes, together with a sorrow that was deep and new and horribly frightening to an eleven-year-old boy.

"Good morning, Draco," she said.

"Mother?" said the boy again, confused. "What were you saying?" When he got no answer, just his mother shaking her head and closing her eyes, he added, tentatively, "You are beautiful today." And then he fell silent, afraid that he'd said something that he wasn't allowed to, that he'd broken some kind of rule.

Narcissa stared at him, very silent and serious, for a long and horrible moment, before she suddenly laughed, and he relaxed. She did a girlish pirouette, a very unmothery gesture. "Oh Draco, let's... let's... let's have a picnic!"

At first, the boy was stunned out of words and wits. He couldn't even remember that his mother had ever wanted to play with him. That was what dad did. But then joy burst forward. "Awesome!" he called happily, swinging out of bed. He had never seen his mother quite like this, and it was – somewhere, deep down – very frightening, but the joy at seeing her smile was bigger and more urgent. "Let's get the house-elves to make food and let's have a blanket – we can take the tapestry in the second drawing room, right? – and a big basket and warm clothes so I don't catch a cold because dad would be angry and lets walk to the other side of the lake and..."

"No, you silly thing," she said with a smile. "Not in the garden. Outside. We'll walk through the forest until we find the fields, and we'll have a picnic on the border, where the grass is so short and soft. Do you remember?" They had gone there a few times, many years ago, right before Lucius started being unfaithful. They had dressed up in pretty clothes and met with the Notts for what was more like small dinner parties than picnics. Draco had never forgotten it, and when they stopped going there, he had for a while had begged his father for a revisit, but had only gotten sharp reprimands for it.

Draco froze, apparently he remembered too. "Father..."

The fear she had expected to feel wasn't there. "Your father is working. He won't know." When she saw that he hesitated she fell to her knees by his bed and grabbed his hands. "Please come with me. Just you and I. Please." She was pleading now, and Draco was helpless, could do nothing but nod in agreement.

He dressed quickly, throwing on a clean set of robes, and on impulse let his hair be just as it was. Just like mother. And the reward was a small chuckle when he came into the kitchen. She had prepared the food for the day herself, he noticed, with worry once more squirming inside him. She had managed the scatter bread-crumbs all over the kitchen, she had crashed a plate, and she was sucking her finger where she had cut herself on the knife. There was a hectic blush over her cheeks and a gleam of tears in her eyes, but she touched his face so gently and she laughed, and he realised that she was happy. So he said nothing.

They went alone, not followed by the usual house-elf, and his mother was singing as she went. Her voice was rather thin and didn't always hold, but somehow Draco liked it. He didn't know how to set words to it, didn't even know exactly what _it_ was. But in him was the knowledge that her voice was the voice of someone who usually only spoke in whispers and murmurs, someone that now somehow was free, and that was what made it beautiful.

If only he could see his mother in this woman. But she was strange and wild, and even though he was happy he got the feeling that it was because... because she was also sad.

* * *

They reached the familiar clearing after half an hour, sat down together in the sunshine. Someone had been there before them; there was a charred patch on the ground, some curled-up coloured wrappers, a couple of some kind of garishly coloured tin cans. Muggles, no doubt. But what did they care? They were alone now, that was all that mattered.

After having eaten a couple of the misshapen sandwiches, she fished out a letter from her pocket, handing it to him. It was time to tell him.

"You were accepted."

He looked down at the red wax seal, the yellow parchment and the green ink, and he started to tremble.

"Hogwarts?"

She nodded

"I will have to leave, won't I?" he wondered, trying to sound offhand but not quite managing. Narcissa sighed, a bit regretful.

"Yes, Draco. You will have to leave. But it will be nice to get away a bit. It will be good for you to get out into the world. There is much more to the world than Malfoy Manor, my love, even though your father seems to think I have forgotten." There was such cutting bitterness to the last words that her son had to turn his head away.

"It's a bit... scary." He was loath to admit it – he eleven and a half already, after all. But she was his mother, and if he couldn't tell her, then who?

To his surprise, she smiled. "That is good. A little scariness is just healthy for you. It helps you remember that you're alive. And there will be so much more to feel that it won't seem that bad. There are so much that ought to be felt, Draco. Feelings oughtn't to be wasted, not even fear."

He looked at her, confused, because he wasn't sure he understood. Nor did he know if he was comfortable with the craving longing that opened in his mother's eyes like a gate into a new world, a big world that seemed to be full of not getting things that you want. He didn't want to see that, she was his mother and he couldn't handle her pain.

He looked down at the envelope, opening it and pulling out its contents. But as he stared at the letters, they made no sense to him; the words seemed to be all jumbled up, jumping back and forth in front of his eyes, dancing and swirling relentlessly. He suddenly felt, just as she had said, that the fear burned in him with the strength of being alive, and aware of that life he was suddenly afraid to lose it. He knew he had to escape.

He flew to his feet, impatient and anxious. "Come! Let's run!" He was shocked to hear that he was shouting, even more frightened when he noticed he was trembling. But his mother stared at him like a trapped animal that suddenly senses a chance for freedom, and she stumbled to her feet too, tripping and sliding and then running, running.

They ran across the fields, ran with the sun warming their backs, running fast, ran more _away from _than _to_. But after running for what seemed like an eternity, they were back at the place where they had left the food, and the woods were growing darker. The fields behind them stretched seemingly endless, and the blue gloom of dusk was ageless and old at the same time, full of ancient terror. Draco took his mother's hand, and they started to walk back to the manor, silent and resigned.

* * *

"Uhm..." Severus felt Harry pull at his sleeve. "There is an owl sitting in the kitchen window. It... I think it's holding a letter."

Severus looked up to see the boy watching him with eyes huge, round eyes, glancing from time to time towards the kitchen door, looking exited and nervous at the same time. Severus stood up, smoothing down his robes, careful to appear calm even though his insides had erupted into fire and ice. He had expressively forbidden everyone he knew to send him letters by owl post. This could only mean one thing.

The Hogwarts letter had arrived.

And sure enough; the small, speckled owl sitting in the window was indeed carrying a letter with the Hogwarts seal on it. It looked exactly like the letter that he could remember having received, so many years ago. The feeling of the rough parchment against his fingers brought back memories of the endless relief he had felt as he had read his own letter, the sudden, surging hope for freedom and a life that was not unkind.

It looked like his letter; it looked like hers. The relief he had felt at receiving his own letter had only been surpassed by seeing the same letter in her hand, as she came charging down the road towards him, forgetting caution in her glee.

"_I got it, Sev! I got it!"_

She had crashed into him, hugging him tight, and even though it was a lie, he had whispered, _"I knew you would."_ As if that fear hadn't been real, as if he hadn't been feverishly clutching his hands and praying to whomever might be listening that please, _please_ let my friend come to Hogwarts too. And he pressed his face against her shoulder as they hugged to dry out the tears that he couldn't allow her to see.

They had dreamed together, hoped together.

For him, the hopes had been crushed. Crushed in two pairs of eyes, grey and brown, as he had seen himself reflected - defeated, humiliated - in their depths. As their scornful faces had looked down on him, he had known that he was still weak, still nothing. He wasn't worthy of her. He had to find a way, any way, not to be weak. He had to find a way to prove to her... to prove to her...

He looked down to see a pair of brilliantly green eyes shine up at him, a sharp blow from the past. What had he proved, other than that he truly was unworthy?

He'd prove that he was better now. Harry, the only human through the whole of his sad, sorry lifetime that truly and unselfishly loved him, was already proof of that he didn't have to be what he had made of himself. That he could change. That he was worth someone's love; he hadn't been worth hers, but he was better now.

And Severus found himself praying feverently that Harry would not feel relief when he was reading the letter. Pride, yes. Expectations, certainly. Anxiousness, fine. Even fear was good, in its way. But not relief. Harry longing to go to Hogwarts was just as it should be; Harry longing to get away from him was... failure.

He handed the letter to the boy. "Here you go. This is for you."

Harry turned over the letter, mouthing the address as he read it. "Look! It even tells where I sleep. Right there!" He pointed. "'The Bedroom Next to the Kitchen', it says. How come they can tell?"

Severus beckoned with one finger to join him, as he sat down by the kitchen table. Harry was eyeing the letter in his hands with wonderment. They sat opposite to each other; partly so that Severus could watch Harry's every move, every expression, and partly so that Harry couldn't see how he clenched his trembling hands in his lap.

"You need to listen very carefully now, Harry. The contents of that letter as well as what I am going to tell you is very secret, and you are therefore not allowed, under any circumstances at all, to tell it to any of your friends. _Not even_ miss Granger, do you hear me? Am I making myself clear?"

Harry nodded, so solemnly that Severus felt a strange urge to burst out laughing. However, it was an urge that passed very quickly. He nodded at the letter. "Open it, then."

He remained quiet as the boy read the letter; and then as he reread it, shaping each word with his mouth and leaving an echo of them in his stepfather's head. And then he sat silent for a long while, looking at the letter, the ceiling, his own lap, and then at Severus, imploringly. Severus sought for words.

"There are two worlds in which people live," he ventured, and as he said the words he knew that they sounded right. It was the right way to tell the boy.

_("Tell me about it, Sev!"_

"_It's... It's like a whole different world, Lily. Like...there's this everyday, ordinary world, and then there's the magical world, and it's amazing!")_

"So far you've lived in the non-magical one. But now it's time for you to enter the magical world. It is a world which, among many creatures, is inhabited by wizards and witches. I am a wizard, as was your father, and your mother was a witch. You are also a wizard, Harry."

"I am?"

"Yes. But I have been sworn to keep this knowledge from you, since the dark wizard that killed your parents still has followers, dangerous witches and wizards, and I had to keep you as hidden as possible. It was better for you not to know about it until it was... time." He swallowed hard. This was the difficult part. "That is also why you've stayed here under my name instead of your own. Your name – Harry Potter," if his voice for a moment failed him at the boy's true last name, Harry probably didn't notice, "is... famous. For almost ten years now, it has been known to every inhabitant of the magical world."

"Why?" said Harry, a bit anxious. Only anxious. The fear would come later.

Severus drew a deep breath, forcing the thoughts out of his mind. "Because your parents were killed by" – _me_ – "the Dark Lord. He was a very powerful, very evil wizard. He was... people said he was trying to take over the world. He killed your parents for opposing him." The lie was huge and painful to speak, but the truth was far, far worse. He just had to stop thinking about it. "He also tried to kill you, Harry." _Stop thinking!_ "But he couldn't. Nobody knows why but the curse he used rebounded on him." It was another lie, but to speak of Lily's love, of her sacrifice... he couldn't. "Instead of it killing you, the curse... well, most people say he is dead, but there are some of us that who don't believe that. He is probably still alive, but for now, he is too weak to do anything but to wait." He sighed, forcing the terror away from his voice, because it wouldn't be fair on Harry. "He has been gone for ten years now. But people still remember. They call you The Boy Who Lived. The boy who lived while the Dark Lord disappeared. They call you a hero."

Harry was quiet for some moments, his gaze now glued to his hands. "But I can't be," he said finally. "I mean, I don't even remember it. And Remus said my parents were brilliant. How come they died if I didn't? I must've been awfully little."

"Nobody knows," Severus said quietly. They couldn't expect him to explain. Dumbledore would have to do it. He _couldn't._ "And you _were_ awfully little. I took care of you that day. Everyone else was busy..." His eyes went distant for a moment, but then fixed on Harry's face. "I am going to show you something."

Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and walked over to one of the kitchen drawers, known to Harry as the _Mystical Drawer,_ because it was always locked. He placed the flat of his hand against it, muttering a few words in some strange language, and it sprang open. He inserted his hand, and when he pulled it out again, there was a slim, polished piece of wood in it.

"My wand," Severus explained, before Harry got a chance to ask. He hesitated for a second, silently debating himself, before striding over to the boy and tapping his forehead with the wand. Foreign words spilled over his tongue, and Harry felt a feeling, almost as if his skin was melting, and the boy clapped his hands over it with a pained yelp. "Here," Severus snapped, brusquely shoved a small hand-mirror into his hands, before going over to stand by the window, staring without seeing into the misty summer morning.

Harry stared at his own face in the mirror, and realised that something was different. There was a thin scar in his forehead. It looked a bit funny, shaped like a bolt of lightning. It hadn't been there before.

"Why did you do that?" he wondered, and he was a bit ashamed, because his voice was shaking rather badly.

"I didn't," Severus replied tersely, and then silently cursed himself as he saw Harry bowing his head guiltily. "The Dark Lord did. That is the scar his curse left upon you. Instead of you dying, all it did was leave a scar. What I did now was merely to remove the spell hiding it from view. I will have to hide it again until you go to Hogwarts, thoughh."

"Why?"

Severus raised his eyebrows and smiled sardonically. "Oh, no reason, unless you count that every wizard, witch and magical creature knows that the Boy Who Lived was marked by a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Had I not hidden it, you might as well have walked around with a sign around your neck saying, 'Harry Potter, Enemy of the Dark Lord'. It would've amounted to the same thing. I did it to protect you, nothing else."

"You don't have to make fun. I didn't know. I'm sorry." Harry said quietly, looking hurt, and Severus realised that he had been unfair.

"I'm sorry, too. It was not my intention to make fun at you. But... some people have been questioning my methods of protecting you. They seemed to think that I had other reasons of hiding your identity." A look of grim anger stole over him as he spoke, and Harry shied away slightly.

"Why would they think that?" the boy wondered meekly.

_Because they know how much I hated your father. Because they think I want to claim you for my own, erase the person you might've been . Because they think I want you to stop being Harry Potter, and turn you into Harry Snape. Because they _still_ don't trust me..._

Severus pushed away the storm of anger, the creeping tendrils of bitterness. They wouldn't do him any good to dwell, he knew that. People could think whatever it pleased them to; _he_ knew the truth.

Besides, how could he ever make himself forget? Seeing that face every day? Seeing those eyes...

"I think you are a bit too young to understand," he said instead, closing the matter with a snap of his voice. Harry nodded, because when you're nearly eleven you get to hear stuff like that all the time, and with Severus you could be sure that he wasn't likely to say anything until he wanted to, now matter how much you nagged.

"So... this Hogwarts place... What's it like?" he said instead.

_("Mother says it's huge and has hundreds and hundreds of rooms, and around it are the castle grounds which are big enough to get lost in, she says, and there's magical creatures out there and magical rooms in the castle and secret doorways and tunnels and..."_

"_Wow!")_

"You'll have to find out for yourself. But it's one of the finest schools for magic in the world. It's a very great honour to be accepted." Severus heard the note of pride which had snuck its way into his own voice, and marvelled at it.

"So..." Harry said hesitantly, looking down at the letter once more. "I will have to leave?"

And _this _was the moment. Severus stared at Harry for a long time, searching the boy's gaze for what he feared so intensively, but only finding insecurity and confusion, mingled with curiosity and a glimmer of a strange, urgent hunger. If Remus had been there, or anyone else that had really known James closely, they would've marvelled at how much Harry looked like him right now. But Severus had only known James as a predator – and later, a thief – and saw nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, the boy's stepfather even smiled slightly when he answered.

"Yes, Harry."

"Oh." He looked anxious. "But I'll come back over the vacations, right? I'll see you then?"

And in an instant of uncharacteristic emotive impulsiveness, Severus suddenly made up his mind about something he had been debating with himself over for a very long time. "You'll see me sooner than that, Harry. I will be working as a teacher at Hogwarts."

The boy's eyes went wide. "Are you? Really? What kind of teacher?"

"Potions. And when you are there, Harry, it is very, very important that you do not call yourself by the name of Snape so anyone hears it. You might get in trouble if anyone hears that one of the teachers is your step-father, I hope you understand that."

Harry nodded seriously. "They'll bully me and think you are going to give me better grades and stuff because of it, right?"

"Exactly. Which is not true."

Harry grimaced. "I don't want to be a teacher's pet. And I don't want my father to have pets either."

"Your step-father, Harry," Severus reminded him. Harry shrugged.

"It doesn't matter that much, does it? I mean, really, you've always been like my father anyway. I mean, there's no difference, right."

And Severus said something he never thought he would, not knowing why he said it. "It does matter, Harry. I'm not saying that there is a difference, not really. But you ought to remember your... your real parents. Even though you might not remember them, you still have to know that they were your parents. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. It would be like forgetting them, and don't you think they deserve better than that?"  
Harry looked at him for two seconds, before he smiled. "I didn't mean it like that, actually. I only meant that I have two fathers instead of just one. You can be my father, even though I have another father that is dead, can't you?" Even though the boy was still smiling, there was a flicker of something that was frightened in his eyes. Severus knew that fear. The fear of being rejected.

He nodded, and relief almost choked his words as he said, "Of course I am."

* * *

"_I can't believe he said that," whispered Lily, watching _Severus standing by the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts. His hands were clenching and unclenching, _and she remembered that he did that when he was upset or nervous, and was trying not to show it. She remembered that there had been a lot of that the week before _their_ letters had arrived. He had been so frightened of not getting in. Or had it been of _her_ not getting in? Sometimes, she had gotten the impression..._

_The memory was chased away by her husband's voice. "Say what?" James wondered distractedly, watching _Harry, who was reading a book on the floor, obviously deeply engaged by it.

"_The thing about Harry not forgetting his parents. It's so unlike him. Even though he has been very kind to Harry" – she refrained from saying that he'd been a good father, because it made James upset – "all these years, it has been... quite obvious that he doesn't want to talk about us."_

"_Better that than him saying something stupid," James growled under his breath. Lily knew why. That thing Harry had said, about it not making any difference, had stung him. But it still made her angry._

"_Oh, stop being an arse, James. He's been trying so very, very hard, can't you see that. He hasn't said a bad word about you to Harry. After all that your gang put him through in school, you cannot possibly ask anything more from him!"_

_James smiled disarmingly. "You are absolutely adorable when you are angry, do you know that?" But Lily wasn't going to let him off the hook._

"_I mean it, James."_

"_So do I. But yes, it surprised me. Very decent, coming from a prize arse."_

_Lily sighed and turned away. She loved James, admired him, but sometimes he could be such an idiot about things. But then again, he didn't know Severus like she did. How could he possibly know how much it really must've cost him to say that? Did she, really? It had been a long time ago..._

_She silenced the thought before it got any further. She knew the man well enough. And she knew _her_ man too. The best way to tackle him was to tease right back. "Well, I personally liked the part about Harry having two fathers. Sounded a bit like it was you and Severus that were married, did it not?"_

_James grimaced wildly. "Lily," he whined, giving her a puppy-eyed look that made him look vaguely like Sirius. "I am going to have _nightmares_ because you said that!" He put his head in his hands in a very good image of deep misery._

"_Don't overdo it," Lily said dryly, and James gave her a pained, reproachful glance._

"_Overdo! I am being stoic." His voice was somewhat muffled by his hands. And Lily burst out laughing._

_She tried to hide it, but apparently he had been peeking between his fingers. With a great, theatrical groan, he flung himself backwards, so that he rested in midair, and sighed deeply. "She is laughing at my misery! My wife doesn't understand me!"_

_Lily gave up. Still laughing she fell into his arms, and rested there until the mirth gave away to silent joy. "Are you proud of your son, James?" she whispered._

"_Proud fit to burst," he answered, his voice very gentle. She looked up to find him gazing at the tousle-haired boy on the floor, his eyes containing boundless affection. "He'll be the best student that's ever gone to Hogwarts."_

"_Doesn't matter," Lily said with a smile, watching Harry, _who turned the page with an eager look on his face_. "I would be proud of him even if he had turned out to be a squib. And so would he, I think," she said, nodding in Severus' direction. In her mind she added: 'He really _has_ changed, hasn't he?'_

_James wasn't listening. "And I'll be damned if he won't be the best bloody quidditch-player the school has ever seen as well," he said, looking very much like the stubborn idiot of a teenage boy he had once been. Lily smiled affectionately, kissing her husband softly on the cheek, her eyes resting on Severus._

"_Whatever you say, love."_

"28/7,1991

Dumbledore,

I am aware that I am a bit late, but if the position as a Potionsmaster is still available, I would be happy to take it. I would thus be pleased if you could kindly send someone to pick Harry up. It would be unwise for me to follow him to the station. Not just for the sake of secrecy, but also because it would be unlucky if the other children sees him with me, knowing how easily you jump to conclusions in that age. I think we can both agree on that Harry will have enough to tackle without adding to his load.

I also feel obliged to inform you that Harry is gifted with a peculiar talent. It seems he is a Parselmouth. I have long held the suspicion that he might be, a suspicion that finally confirmed when I saw him ordering a snake out from under the stairs, where it appeared to have crept in by mistake. I have asked him not to show this to anyone at school; it would hardly be appropriate for him to be displaying talents associated with the Heir of Slytherin. It worries me, though, and I'd like to hear your views on the matter. Why has this happened? Is this a sign of some kind of connection to the Dark Lord? If this is the case, there must be some way of blocking the connection. A mere child is not suited to be so closely bound to our enemy.

Nothing else is out of the ordinary. I still see Lucius Malfoy in the village, but I think I have worked out the pattern of his visits. I am confident I will be able to hide our presence from him.

Hoping I find you in good health,

S. Snape"

* * *

Remus was to take Harry shopping for his school things in Diagon Alley, as a sort of birthday-gift. Harry was wildly exited, of course. It was his first visit in the other world Severus had told him about, the _magical_ world. Also, he had to admit that he was quite relieved to get away a bit from his friends. Especially Hermione. He wasn't used to keeping secrets from her, and this secret was so wonderful and fantastic that he was dying to share it with her. Severus had pointed out that she might only become jealous of him anyway, to which Harry of course had scoffed. But Severus said that he had seen it happen before, and he had sounded so ominous about it that Harry believed him, and a faint shadow of doubt had been cast over his soul. And besides, as Severus had pointed out, if Harry couldn't keep the secret, what was the guarantee that she could? So Harry had worked all the self-control over himself that he could possibly muster, and kept quiet. Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly made easier by the fact that Hermione seemed on the verge of telling _him_ something all the time. Several times she had opened her mouth, looking as if she had a wonderful secret to tell him, but every time she seemed to think better of it, and closed her mouth with an uneasy shrug. If he could just be allowed to tell her _his_ secret, he was sure she would tell his, and then they'd make an adventure out of both secrets, and _no one_ was going to get jealous.

"You have everything you need, Harry?"

"Yes, uncle Remus. But why are we standing by the fire-place?"

"Because we are going to use Floo powder, Harry."

Harry stared at the pot of glittering green powder that Remus presented to him. "What's floogpowder?"

"Floo powder, Harry. And you'll soon see. Take a pinch." Harry did as he was told. "Good. Now, you throw that into the fireplace, and then you step into the fire and say "Diagon Alley" loud and clear. And then you tuck your elbows in and stand still until you stop spinning. When you stop spinning, and _not_ before that, you step out of the fireplace, and you will be in Diagon Alley. Got it?"

Harry nodded, but he was looking rather anxious. "Can't you do it first? So I see how it's supposed to be done."

Remus looked at him for some seconds, and caught Severus giving him a warning glare at the corner of his eye. "Tell you what, Harry? Let's do it together, shall we? That way, I can show you."

Harry tried to not look too grateful, and nodded.

Remus heard Severus breathing a sigh of relief, and smiled to himself. Hah! Who would've known that there would be a day when he could swear that Severus Snape was acting just like Molly Weasley.

"Come here, Harry." The boy obeyed, and as Remus threw the powder into the fire, he pulled the boy with him into the emerald flames. "On three," he whispered in the boy's ear. "One...two...three!"

"Diagon Alley!" They both shouted, and the world started to spin madly. Remus reassuringly held his arms around the boy, as they saw fireplace after fireplace whirling past in front of their eyes, and Harry kept a very firm grip on his hand.

Finally, they felt their feet connect with a hard stone floor, and Remus quickly flung out a hand to save himself from toppling right over Harry. They both blinked the ashes out of their eyes, and Harry rubbed his glasses against his shirt to rid it of the thin, grey veil that had settled over the glass.

"Wotcher, Harry!" said a cheerful voice from their left, and two pairs of eager arms helped them both out of the fire-place.

"Hi Nymphadora!" Harry answered happily, and the girl rolled her eyes in disgust.

"I hate that name," she complained to no one in special, and her father, who was helping Remus to rid himself of the last of the dust, laughed.

"Don't whine, Dora my dear. We're just waiting for my wife and Hagrid to turn up," he added to Remus, "then we'll be off. Hagrid obviously was supposed to visit Gringotts for some Hogwarts business, and Andromeda is taking out some money. They should be here any second now."

"Is Hagrid also coming?" Harry asked excitedly, turning to face Remus.

"Mhm," he smiled widely as the boy whooped. "We thought we'd be quite the party celebrating your birthday. It's a pity Severus couldn't come, but you know... it's a very big secret. Nobody can know."

Harry nodded solemnly, and tried to not think of his step-father being home alone while he was at Diagon Alley having fun.

"No grumpy faces!" Nymphadora declared, lifting Harry up and swinging him around, making him squeal with delight. "Merlin," she panted when she finally let him go, "I swear you grow heavier each time I do that."

"Soon it will be him doing it to you," Ted said with a wide grin.

"As if I'd ever allow that," Dora answered cheerfully, growing a foot in height and almost as much in shoulder width, before shrinking back to normal. Harry giggled.

"I see the children are already having fun," said Andromeda, striding towards them with the whole commanding grace of an empress. Nymphadora stuck out her tongue at her mother, turning it green as she did so. Harry, on the other hand, threw himself into the waiting arms of the tall, beautiful lady, who laughed and held him very, very tight. Remus noticed that she was discreetly giving him a quick once-over as she did so, probably checking to see he wasn't malnourished or... or missing a leg or something. Remus raised his eyebrows and gave her a rather direct look over Harry's head. She blushed, but raised her chin defiantly as if to say, 'Well, you never know.'

"Sweet god, you grow to look more like your father every time I see you," she then murmured, looking down at Harry with a fond smile.

"Which of them?" Harry asked solemnly, and Remus laughed. Andromeda looked a bit shocked, but said nothing.

"It's good ter see 'im so 'ealthy, ain't it?" Rubeus Hagrid ducked his head under the doorframe, smiling widely as Harry cried a greeting, disentangling himself from Andromeda so he could throw himself at Hagrid and hug him around as much waist as his arms could reach around. Hagrid laughed, ruffling his hair and leaving Harry looking slightly dazed from the sheer force of it. "An' 'appy too, I see. Who woulda' thought, when they firs' tried ter send ye off ter those blasted muggles..." Remus made frantic motions behind Harry's back, and Hagrid caught himself. Thankfully enough, Harry's ears still seemed to be ringing a bit, and he didn't appear to have heard. The giant man looked slightly embarrased anyway. "Well, er, enough about that. Yer looking jus' great, Harry! " said Hagrid, patting Harry on the shoulder with such force that he was propelled off his feet and sent crashing into a table. Hagrid gave him a surprised look. "Mind where yer tryin' ter sit down, lad," he admonished, helping Harry to his feet. The boy grinned, boxing Hagrid on the arm, something the half-giant didn't even seem to notice.

"Well, then," said Remus, before any more accidents could happen. "We should be off. Why don't we go to Madame Malkin's first? It takes a while, and that should leave us all some time to buy birthday gifts to Harry."

Harry whooped and gave Remus a hug, catching him off guard at first. Then he bent down and returned the hug, and he smiled softly down at his best friend's son as he straightened up again. "You would be so proud of him, James," he whispered.

And then suddenly there was a moment when the world seemed to slow down around him, and Remus thought, for the briefest of seconds, that he heard that familiar, longed-for voice saying, _"I am."_

But in the next heartbeat, he was sure it had just been imagination.

* * *

**A/N:** My, my, this is a lot longer than the old version. Oh, well. I had fun, and I hope you had too.


	5. A day in a new world

**A/N: **If you think you're shocked right now that I'm updating this fic, believe me, it is nothing in comparison with how shocked _I_ am right now. Srsly.

**

* * *

Chapter five**

**A day in a new world**

* * *

There was already someone at Madame Malkin's. A quite thin and peaky-looking boy with a pale, pointy face and white-blond hair. Harry was sure there was something vaguely familiar about him, but he couldn't really figure out where in the world he was supposed to have seen him.

"Hello," the boy said, giving him a measuring look. "You're starting at Hogwarts too." It was a statement, but there was a sort of a curl to it, as if the boy wasn't quite as self-assured as he wanted to be.

"Yup," Harry said cheerfully, sitting down on the stool that he was ushered towards. "Seems like a great place, doesn't it."

"I suppose. But then again, it's the _only _place worth considering," the boy drawled, checking his nails to the vexation of the witch trying to nail up his robe.

"Stand still, young sir!"

The boy sent her a menacing glare, but Harry could see his eyes flickering as the woman gave him a hard, unimpressed stare. Once again, he got the feeling that he'd seen this boy before, but where? He wasn't from the village, and Harry had never been outside it before.

"What House do you think you'll end up in?" he asked, just to have something to talk about while he pondered. Remus had told him about the Houses before they went to Diagon Alley, when they had been having breakfast in the kitchen. Harry had honestly thought it sounded rather stupid, but he hadn't said so, because Remus seemed so enthusiastic about Hogwarts and Harry didn't want to disappoint him by making him think he didn't want to go. He really did, he just thought that the Houses sounded daft. As if a hat knew anything.

"Slytherin, of course," the boy said, sounding as if had been the dumbest question he'd ever heart. Harry gritted his teeth.

"What's so of course about it?"

The boy gave him a strange look, but wasn't thrown for long. Harry thought he almost sounded like he was reciting his homework when he answered. "My family's always gone to Slytherin. Slytherin is where the most powerful end up. Besides," he smiled rather nastily, "I would rather kill myself than go to Hufflepuff."

"Yeah, Slytherin seems fine" said Harry, unsure what to reply to that. What was wrong with Hufflepuff? He had to ask Remus, or maybe Tonks. "My... uhm... step-father went there too. But my real parents both went to Gryffindor."

"Your real parents? What happened to them?" the boy wondered, regarding him with something akin to suspicion.

"They're dead" Harry said flatly, not wanting to go into detail.

"How sad." Harry didn't think he sounded _that_ sad over it. "But they were of _our kind_, weren't they?"

"What kind is that?" Harry said, nonplussed.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Wizards, of course. They weren't muggles or anything?"

"_...I'm not supposed to talk to muggles..."_

The way he said it finally clicked somewhere in Harry's mind. Now he remembered! How could he even have forgotten? It was probably the only time he'd ever talked to a kid from outside the village.

"Now I remember!" he crowed, and the other boy gave him a wide-eyed, surprised look. "I just remembered where I'd seen you before," Harry explained. "You're Draco... Draco Melboy or something, right?"  
"Malfoy," the boy corrected.

"Well, yeah, something like that."

"I'd say there is quite a large difference," Draco replied huffily. "But how did you know that?"

"Don't you remember? We've met before," Harry said, jumping up and down on his seat so vigorously that the witch measuring his robes had to tell him to sit still. "You know, outside the store in my village? You told me you weren't allowed to talk to muggles. And you ran away when my stepfather came out."

The boy frowned, and then his eyes widened in recognition. "You're... but I though... you _aren't_ a muggle?!" he finally managed to blurt out.

"Wouldn't be here if I was, would I?" Harry answered with a grin.

Draco seemed to relax and his expression cleared, as if everything suddenly made more sense to him; that was at least the impression Harry got, even though he didn't understand it. "Of course not," Draco replied, matching grin for grin. "Muggles would be too stupid to find their way here."

"Rubbish," Harry replied scornfully, though he wasn't very upset...yet. "My best friend's a muggle, and she's one of the smartest people I know."

Draco looked surprised, and at first it seemed as if he was going to argue. But then it appeared that he had decided to ignore it for now. Instead he gave Harry a hard, assessing look, as if he was trying to figure something out.

"What's that on you forehead?" he finally said.

Harry thought this approach was rather rude, and frowned. "Just a scar. See." He lifted his fringe. "It's nothing special. You don't have to stare."

But Draco did stare, his eyes growing wide. "You're Harry Potter!" he gasped.

For a few moments, Harry was totally nonplussed. Then he remembered Severus' words...

"_The name of Harry Potter is known to every inhabitant of the magical world."_

So he had really meant it. Okay, so Severus rarely said things he didn't mean, but parts of his story had been hard to believe until now, when he saw the realisation dawn in Draco's eyes. He wondered what the other boy had heard about him, if someone had told him that Harry was some kind of a hero, and suddenly he felt acutely uncomfortable.

"Uhm... yeah, I am," Harry said, self-conscious in a way he had never quite been before. Draco kept staring, apparently as shocked by this revelation as Harry had been by Draco's reaction to the scar. He was saved by a knock at the window. Andromeda was standing outside, waving at him with a secretive smile. He was just going to explain who she was to Draco, when the boy gasped.

"_Aunt Andromeda?!_"

* * *

Remus had been wandering Diagon Alley in a slightly desperate search for a present for Harry. It had to be something special, but it also had to be something he could afford, and that rather limited the options. Nonetheless, his eyes were drawn by their own accord to the window display in the quidditch shop.

But no. Despite being ridiculously expensive, broomsticks were also forbidden for first-years, so it wouldn't do Harry much good.

His inner marauder – a part of himself that he'd tried very hard to forget – stuck up its ugly head and countered with that what the hell, Harry could still use it during the holidays, and by the way, it _was_ quite possible to smuggle a broomstick into the castle unnoticed.

Remus was appalled with himself. Something like that could get the boy expelled. What kind of good example was he for even _thinking_ such things?

The marauder part claimed that a bad example was better than a boring one, and when Remus wondered to himself in alarm what Severus would say if he knew that Remus had considering such a thing, the marauder part was appalled in turn by the notion that he actually cared about what _Snape_ thought.  
And _that_ was when Remus completely shoved his teenage self and all of its idiocy back into oblivion, where it belonged. It had been such a relief to finally grow up and away from that petty way of thinking, and he wasn't going to ever go back to it. He was a grown man with Harry's best interests in mind, and they did _not_ include being kicked out of Hogwarts.

Nonetheless, he stood for a while longer outside. It _was _true that Harry still would be able to use it during his holidays, and the boy would probably love it, but...

He sighed. "I can't afford one anyway," he reminded himself sternly.

"No. But _we_ can afford one together." For a moment, Remus thought wildly that his marauder self had become real and was talking to him, before his mind caught up with his ears and informed him that the voice he had heard belonged to Andromeda Tonks. Remus turned around in surprise, and found her smiling at him. During the years her manners had softened and the worst of the Blackish wildness and arrogance had been washed out of her, yet there still was a small edge to her smile that he remembered. He remembered it from the way Sirius had smiled whenever he was really pleased with himself, but she was kinder than he had ever been and this edge was softened by the warm amusement in her eyes.

Remus opened his mouth to protest that no, he didn't have more than perhaps the tenth of the cost of a broomstick at his disposal, but she cut him short.

"We are rather well off, you know, and I could easily afford to buy him a broomstick all by myself, but I'd rather buy it, and give it, together with you. Harry won't know or care who paid the most, he will only be happy that he got such a nice gift. It's the thought that matters, remember?"

Remus felt he ought to be proud, ought to protest, but what he really _wanted_ was to buy a broomstick for Harry. He smiled a bit bleakly. "Thank you."

She smiled back. "Thank _you_. You know, I would never have figured out what to get him if you hadn't given me the idea." That was a big fat lie, Remus was sure, but he felt better for her saying it.

* * *

Harry sent Draco a look of utter surprise.

"_Aunt_ Andromeda?" he demanded. "Tonks never said she had any cousins."

Draco didn't reply, but slid out of his chair, looking worried. "How do you know her?" he snapped at Harry.

"She was sort of a friend of my parents, I suppose," Harry explained. He'd never been quite sure of how she'd known them either. He'd got the impression that they had worked at the same place. He also slid down from his chair, grinning as he noticed that Remus had arrived outside the window as well, carrying something. When he looked at Andromeda again he saw that she had noticed Draco and was watching him with what Harry assumed was surprise. "But that's great! You can come with us if you want-" But his grin faded as he saw the look on Draco's face.

"If my mother... I mean, I have to go. Bye!" Draco grabbed the package Madame Malkin was handing him, threw her far too much money, and bolted for the door without heeding to her call to come back and take back the change. Harry could hear a hastily called, "See you at Hogwarts!" before Draco appeared outside the window, charging down the street without even looking at Andromeda.

Harry distractedly handed over some money and took the package and the change with a vague, "Thank you," before exiting as well. The others were all waiting for him outside, although Andromeda was still looking rather sadly in the direction Draco had disappeared.

"Are you really his aunt?" Harry asked her, and she started slightly, looking guilty.

"Yes, I am. Or I'm supposed to be, at least." Harry had no idea what she meant by that, nor did he understand why her eyes had gone so shiny, as if she was trying not to cry, or why Ted threw her a sharp glance when she wasn't looking, shaking his head and looking worried.

* * *

What he didn't know, and what Ted worried about, was that Andromeda, although she loved her husband dearly, hadn't been able to handle the exclusion from her family with the same aggressive indifference and relief as her cousin. Despite their prejudiced ways and their stupid elitism, she still loved her family, and had hoped that they would come around and at least talk to her again, if maybe not accept her. And then, to not even be mentioned in her parents' will, nor even find out that they were dead until weeks after the rest of the family; to be scorned and rejected by her beloved sisters; and on top of that, finding out what Sirius had done...

She had learnt to hate Bellatrix after she had 'dealt with' Regulus for the Dark Lord, and when she had been put to jail she had been relieved. But she couldn't help hoping against hope that one day, Narcissa would see reason, and she would have back that one part of her old family that wasn't forever lost in some way. Until that day, she would keep her heart sealed tight rather than invite in more people that could hurt her. Her friendship with Remus was cautious at best; her love for Harry enabled by the fact that he was still far too young to cause any damage. To almost everyone else, she was little more than a stranger.

Dora gently nudged her mother, bringing her back from her contemplations. Andromeda shook her head slightly while breathing a soft sigh. The boy indeed did look a lot like his father - curse him - but just like Harry, he had borrowed his eyes from his mother. Oh, not in colour perhaps, but in shape, and the way they sat so far from each other. But most of all, he had inherited that fear of hers; her constant anxiety. She had always been so scared of not being good enough, that maybe she was doing something wrong, and perhaps, if she just tried a little bit harder... Andromeda was quite sure she had interpreted him right from that short moment before he ran away; after all, she had known her sisters very well.

She wondered over the fact that he had recognised her, but not everyone in the Black family was quite as vicious as Walburga, blasting away at family trees and burning portraits. So probably there were still some portraits left in Narcissa's possession; maybe those miniatures that had been painted just before she eloped with Ted.

"Dromeda, dear, we should be going to the ice-cream parlour." She blinked, and found Ted watching her anxiously.

"Oh... What?"

"Florean Forescue's," he prompted. "Harry's supposed to open his presents there, remember?" She fought down and impulse to snap at him for being so protective; she knew he meant well. So she nodded without, starting to lead the way hurriedly in a vain attempt to outrun her own thoughts.

* * *

They found a nice, sun-lit spot and pulled some tables together there, crowding around it while they chatted and laughed. Diagon Alley was bustling with life and movement, and despite the dust that swirled in the air it was a lovely day. Besides, the ice-cream proved an excellent remedy against dust-filled throats, and soon everyone had put their worries aside for a while.

"So... who's first?" wondered Andromeda.

"Me! Let me!" Her daughter mimicked an eager student, waving her arm in the air and jumping on her seat. Andromeda raised her eyebrows somewhat, but then nodded to Nymphadora with a small smile, which was all the encouragement the girl needed. From her, Harry received a bunch of comics, a colour-changing quill and what Dora called a notebook, even though Remus thought it really looked like a diary. But he supposed it was a wise move, since not that many eleven-year-old boys would ever admit to doing something as girlish as writing in a diary. _Even_ if it happened to be a very handsome such, made from dragonskin leather. Harry was equally happy about the textbooks and the snowy owl that Hagrid handed over with a gruff, incomprehensible mutter. But when he opened the gift from Remus, Andromeda and Ted, he went very still. He stared at the broomstick in open-mouthed surprise, and then breathed a very soft, "Wow!"

"A nimbus 2000. The best there is to get," said Andromeda in what was supposed to be an offhand voice, but she didn't quite manage. Her face broke into a huge smile after just a few seconds, Nymphadora gave and impressed whistle, and Ted clapped Harry on the shoulder with a good-natured laugh.

Harry, thinking that perhaps he'd been rude to look so much happier over this gift, blushed a bit and busied himself with removing the last traces of Spellotape from the handle of the broom. Remus, who sat close enough to notice the reverent way the boy touched the broomstick, had a hard time holding back a quiet chuckle. He knew it was silly, but he was glad that his gift had impressed Harry. He felt as if he had to make up for all the time when he hadn't been able to be there for the boy, all the long weeks between each of the visits to Harry that Dumbledore had allotted him. He didn't resent Severus for this, but he _did_ envy him quite a lot. And he certainly did wish that he hadn't been so completely out of his mind back then when Harry needed a parent. But how could he have felt any different?

At least now, he had still been allowed a part of Harry's life. That was more than he would've got if Harry had been sent to his aunt and uncle. And Harry was happy, and that was still what mattered most.

* * *

"Ah yes...I thought I'd be seeing you soon."

Harry jumped a bit at the dry, low voice, but Remus' hand on his shoulder was reassuring, and so was Dora's presence, although a little bit alarming as well. There seemed to be quite a lot of things that could be tipped over or broken in there, and she was already fingering a shelf absentmindedly. The wandmaker Ollivander seemed to be of the same opinion, because he gave the girl a watery glare, and she stood back with a sigh, putting her hands behind her back.

Ollivander's gaze returned to Harry again, and it appeared that intended to pick up where he left off. "Harry Potter... It seems like yesterday your mother bought her wand here..."

"Really?" Harry asked, squirming just a little bit as the eyes of the man bore into him.

"Yes," Ollivander replied a bit irritably, confused at being interrupted again. "I... Ten and a quarter inches long, it was, rather swishy, made of willow. A fine wand for charmswork." He stepped closer. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand -- eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration." Harry gulped, uneasy in front of the unblinking stare.

He was saved moments later by a huge clang and an, "Oh, dear!" from Dora, followed by a string of murmured excuses. She had managed to upturn a brass vase.

"Nymphadora Tonks" said Ollivander a bit dryly, and the girl grimaced at the name. "Yes, I remember your last visit here _very well_." The girl grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at Harry when Ollivander looked the other way, setting down the vase with the right end up. "Ten inches, birch, unicorn hair, hmm?"

"Yup," Dora said, indicating the wand that she had for the moment stuck behind her ear. The old man gave a quite dissatisfied grunt. Dora made a funny face at him when he turned to Remus, and Harry was forced to hide his grin behind the palm of his hand.

"Remus Lupin. Twelve inches, juniper, dragon heartstring. An... unusual combination." The gaze that Ollivander gave Remus was odd, sort of challenging. But he met the gaze without wavering, and his eyes gleamed almost orange in the gloom.

"You remember it correctly. As always."

The old man nodded. "Yes, of course... They are all the work of my hand, after all..."

Remus nodded politely, but his voice indicated impatience. "Perhaps we ought to start thinking about matters at hand. Harry's wand, for example."

Ollivander nodded, moving back among the shelves to retrieve a wand for Harry to try, while a tape measurer was happily swishing around, taking every kind of measurement on Harry on its own. After a while, the old man returned with the first possible wand, and the tape shrunk back on a shelf. Harry thought it looked a bit disappointed, and almost giggled, but sobered when Ollivander cleared his throat disapprovingly. Instead he picked up the wand presented to him and, having hade the process already explained to him, gave the wand a enthusiastic wave.

Nothing what so ever happened.

This scenario repeated itself until there was a large stack of already used wands on the counter. But Ollivander seemed happy enough. Harry thought that maybe he didn't have that many visitors except the customers; maybe he was lonely when there wasn't someone there trying out wands. That thought made him feel unexpected sympathy towards the nosy old man.

"I wonder..." said Mr Ollivander after yet another failed attempt, looking down at one of the slim wooden boxes that the wands were stored in. Then he apparently reached a decision, because he snapped it open and handed the wand to Harry, who gave it a rather tired wave. His wrist was starting to ache. When a bunch of red and gold sparks flew out of the end, lighting the dusty air, Harry almost dropped the wand out of surprise.

"Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. A very supple wand." The old man shook his head. "Curious... Very curious..."

Remus was looking a bit annoyed by now, but Harry's curiosity had been kindled. "Excuse me, Mr Ollivander, but what is curious?"

Ollivander gave him a piercing stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold. And it so happens, that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand gave another feather - just one other. To the very wand that gave you _this._" He pointed with a long, pale finger at the scar in Harry's forehead. Remus sucked in breath sharply, and there was a muffled crash as Dora, perched on the bench by the window, lost her balance and toppled into the window display. Mr Ollivander didn't seem to notice. "Thirteen and a half inches," he said a bit mournfully, as a parent might talk of a child gone astray. "Yew. A very powerful wand, and in the wrong hands..." He spread his fingers. "The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

"How much for the wand?" asked Remus abruptly, and Harry noticed that he was trying very hard not to become angry. He also looked shaken and upset, but not nearly as shaken and upset as Harry felt.

_The wand chooses the wizard, remember..._

The phrase repeated itself with malicious monotony in his head, and he didn't like it at all. Why had it chosen him, then? Stupid wand. He glared at it before stuffing it in his bags.

Remus handed Ollivander some money, wanting desperately to get out as soon as possible but not wanting to seem rude. As he cast about for a reason to make an immediate retreat, Nymphadora winked at him, before innocently asking Ollivander if he wanted help with putting the wands back. The old man declined the offer with a slightly panicky note to his voice, and they were almost shoved out the door. Remus smiled thankfully at the young woman, and she gave him a glowing smile in return before challenging Harry to race her back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Remus shook his head, thinking that people never seemed to amaze him. As soon as you thought you knew someone for sure, they went and changed your view of them.

And that thought of course brought back the memory of Sirius' face, laughing madly as he was dragged away. It clung to his mind like an infection, unbidden, unavoidable, and Remus shivered, suddenly feeling cold. He didn't want to think of it, but yet the harder he tried to avoid the thought, the harder it sunk its fangs into him; sharp, yellow fangs, stained with blood, crushing his ankle between huge jaws... He pushed away that memory too, angry with himself. Whatever had led him to think about _that_? He hadn't dwelled on the moment he was bitten in _years._

But if he was going to be honest with himself, he knew exactly why. That someone he had loved so much, someone he had respected and admired, could turn so foul and vile and betraying... it had taken away some of his faith in humanity, and that meant it had made him less human than before. How could he be something he didn't believe in? So his eyes, which before only had turned yellow when he was really angry or when he transformed, had permanently taken on a yellowish tint, a constant reminder of what he had lost; faith, perseverance, hope... After all, what was there to hope for.

But then, suddenly, he remembered Snape. Snape, drawing wand at their backs and using Dark Art hexes on them, harassing Peter when they weren't around, calling Lily a mudblood. He remembered the disgust in his young face when Remus had tried to apologise for almost hurting him during that... that incident in the shrieking shack...

"_Get away from me, you filthy half-breed! And don't you ever come near me again, do you hear me? Or I _will_ tell! I'll tell everyone!"_

It had been empty threats of course, but Remus had still hated him with all his heart right then, because it was so _unfair_. Being blamed for what the wolf had tried to do, as if he, Remus, wouldn't have given anything, absolutely anything to be able to remove that part of him forever. He would freely have shouldered his part of the blame in their bullying, had Snape demanded it, but instead he was being blamed for what that parasite monster that lived inside of him had done.

All he had wanted to do was to prove that this monster had nothing to do with _him_, but Snape hadn't allowed him to. And that had stung.

With a shudder he remembered the battles against the masked Death Eaters, how he had seen friends and the families of his friends being slaughtered. Severus had been one of those Death Eaters, and the blood of people he had cared for was undoubtedly on his hands.

And then he had found out that Snape had been a spy for their side for several months, risking his life for people he didn't even seem to care for; people who never learned to trust him, even when they found out what he had done for them. And from the moment he lifted Harry out of the cradle that cold November morning, he had never given them any reason to doubt his devotion to Harry's protection, nor his devotion as a father.

Maybe, just maybe, they had something to hope for, after all.

* * *

Severus leaned his head in his hands with a tired sigh. It was true that it was unfair that he would not be allowed to follow Harry today. Everyone agreed with that. But he knew the orders, and so did they. At all costs was it to be avoided that the wizarding society was made aware of that he had the boy in his care. And he was far too old to whine about that he wanted to go to, like some spoilt kid with far too little to occupy himself with; like _Black_ would undoubtedly have done...

He lifted his glass to the light, studying it lackadaisically. The only light in the room was the muted glow of the fire, and it gave to the white wine a touch of amber, and faint reflexes danced over his fingers.

He wondered if they talked about him, but he doubted it. None of them liked that Harry was with him, he was quite sure with that. Lupin was jealous, Hagrid disapproving, Andromeda Tonks was just like her cousin, sulking and whining... And not one of them trusted him.

Of course he had been sorely tempted not to say a word, to remain silent about who Harry really was until right before he started school. He had been tempted not to give the pendant to the boy, to imprint in him of how very little consequence his father was now. After all, it was _he_ and not James who had taken care of Harry for all these years, watched over him. Tucked him in at night and awoken him in the morning. He had fed him. Clothed him. He had seen the boy take his first steps, and from that moment he had been there to take care of him whenever he fell. And through all of this he hadn't been able to keep from thinking that it was unfair that no matter what he'd done for Harry, no matter if he cared about the boy too, everyone would always say that Lily and James were his _real_ parents. He would never be regarded as more than a substitute. No matter what he did, the boy would always belong to the parents that he couldn't even remember.

And then he had thought: _Belong_? Like a house or a broomstick or a book? Like a thing? Or maybe like a pet? And he had scolded himself for being so selfish. It was true that it was unfair that in the eyes of the world, Harry would never be his son. But that shouldn't matter as long as he knew the truth. And that was that Harry didn't _belong_ to Lily and James, nor did he belong to Severus, or Remus, or anyone else. Harry belonged to Harry, and that was all there was to it. And thus it was up to Harry to decide who his real father was; as decision the boy had clearly already made. Who said you only could have one father, after all?

And as his father, Severus decided that he was pleased, despite everything, that Harry finally got to spend a day in Diagon Alley.

Almost before he had thought the thought to an end, there was a rush of flames, and Harry stumbled out of the fire-place, carrying several heavy parcels and looking exhausted and exited in at the same time, in that special way that only children seemed to manage. There was another whoosh from the fire, and Lupin stepped out quite a lot more gracefully, carrying a cage with a rather frantic snowy owl in one hand, and a broomstick in the other. He was looking quite tired as well. Harry grinned and held up all his purchases and gifts for inspection, and Severus nodded in approval, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small smile.

"I trust everything went well?" he asked Lupin rather coolly. The other man nodded, although whenever he looked at Harry, his face turned thoughtful. When Harry thundered away to his room – no doubt to dump everything he carried in his bed or on the floor – Remus handed Severus a short, hand-written note.

"Read it," he murmured, before following Harry to dispose off the owl and the broomstick. Severus raised his eyebrows at his back, wondering if it really was necessary to be so secretive, but he resolved to read the note before Harry came back anyway. As he had gotten to the end of the message, he was glad he had. It left his with a feeling of unspecified, but nonetheless powerful dread, and it took a while to arrange his features in the semblance of calm. Yet even as Harry and Remus returned so that Harry could bid Remus goodbye, Severus was going over the contents of the note in his head, again and again. The very same phoenix that gave its tail-feather to the wand of the Dark Lord? In Harry's wand; Harry, who was the only one to have survived a killing curse, and a killing curse cast by the Dark Lord? Severus didn't know what it meant, but he knew he didn't like it. He wanted Harry to be protected from his past, yet the boy seemed so powerfully linked to the events that had robbed him of his parents that it seemed unlikely that he would ever be allowed to forget them. And if this meant that Harry was somehow linked to the Dark Lord as well, then he was sure that it was going to mean trouble.

* * *

**A/N:** Ta-_dah_! Who knows, maybe I'll be able to keep this up...


	6. The boy who smiled

A/N: I have this productive spree-thing going on, it seems. I hope it lasts :D Maybe I could get some work done on HA and maybe even Used to know. And more damn chapters on this behemoth is always fun... Thanks to all you kind people who have been patient and who have made my day with your kind words 3

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* * *

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Chapter six

**The boy who smiled**

* * *

Harry stood all alone on platform 9 ¾.

Andromeda had followed him here before she went to work, and she _had_ made an attempt to convince her to stay with him, but the boy had refused to give in. No, he was really fine. She ought to get to work. Dad always said that doing your duty was important. Go on. And throwing a final, worried look at him from over her shoulder, she had hurried away. Now he was all alone on the bustling terminal, feeling a lot less brave than he had made show of. Even though he could hardly take a step in any direction without bumping into somebody, he had never felt so alone in his life.

And it was absolutely terrifying.

Harry had never even slept at a friend's house. He had wanted, many times, to ask Severus if he could, but he had been convinced that it would be out of the question anyway, so why make Severus angry? Because he would have been angry. It was the kind of anger that people frequently explain to children with the phrase 'He's only angry because he cares,' the most frustrating explanation in history, since the anger rarely makes anyone involved feel better.

It all made sense now, of course. It _sort of _had before, but not quite. Other children's parents got worried too, but not about the sort of things Severus could get worried for. But if Severus was supposed to be his special protector, on top of being his father, Harry supposed that he would worry more than ordinary parents did.

For a short, uncomfortable moment Harry wondered if that was the only reason Severus got worried, but he pushed that thought away with disgust. Severus only thought that Harry was more likely to get hurt than other children, and that was why he was more worried than other parents.

But now he wouldn't be able to always be there, like he used to. They would see each other every day, Harry supposed, but if Severus would do as he usually did, and never let Harry out of his sight, then this whole disguise thing would be destroyed. And that ought to feel liberating, but it didn't. It just made him more frightened.

Suddenly almost panicking, Harry wondered how on earth he was going to survive at Hogwarts without anything or anyone around that was safe and familiar; without anywhere to go for comfort. Mad ideas about escaping from the platform and going home were flashing through his mind, when suddenly something happened that almost made him cry out in fright. Someone called his name.

"Harry!"

Casting about wildly, he sought for the source of the cry; his mind – almost paralysed with unreasonable fear – was trying to tell him something about the voice he had just heard, but Harry found it impossible to listen.

And then something hit him at high speed from the side and Harry was positive he was going to die; only the something was laughing and hugging him and his vision was almost completely obscured by brown hair...

"Hermione?"

"_Ican'tbelieveyouarehere!_" she breathed happily, her eyes wide and her cheeks rather rosy from the excitement. "And I went around being _so_ secretive all the time and I didn't _dare_ to tell you because that would be breaking the law and anyway, you'd think I was trying to trick you or just daft or something and my parents said it was best if I kept silent, and then you were a wizard all along! Weren't you surprised when the owl turned up just like that? But no, you must've known all along! You've got wizard's photos in that pendant, oh, how stupid of me, why didn't I _think_ of that?"

"I didn't," Harry finally managed to say.

"Didn't what?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"I didn't know I was a wizard. Severus kept it secret from me 'cause he wanted me to be safe."

"Safe?" Hermione repeated, confused. "What in the world would he need you to keep you safe _from_? You..." But then she fell silent, her mouth forming a an 'o' as her eyes jumped to his forehead, and then widened considerably with shock. "Oh, Harry, you _aren't_! You _can't_ be? Or... are you?"

"What? What can't... _What?!_"

"What's your real name, Harry?" she asked shakily. "The one you got from your parents."

And _then_ Harry finally understood, and he felt his cheeks warming as it suddenly became impossible to meet Hermione's gaze. "Potter," he mumbled.

He could feel Hermione continuing to stare at him for a few seconds, then she dived for her trunk, tearing it open and rifling through it in the middle of the station floor until she found what she sought. She pulled out a heavy textbook and opened it on a place where she had shoved a vividly coloured marker. "Here!" she said excitedly, shoving it under his nose. "Read!" she breathed.

"_Harry Potter_," he read the words written in large, bold script on the top of the page, and then, in slightly smaller script: "The Boy Who Lived."

From blushing furiously, Harry's face drained of colour until he seemed to have turned faintly green. "This is in a _book_?!"

"Well, of course it is!" Hermione exclaimed. "You're famous! Everyone knows who you are, don't they? You're the baby who conquered the Dark Lord!"

Harry wished that he had somewhere to sit down, but when he tried to move, he discovered that it was as if he was rooted to the spot. People recognising him just because of his scar was bad enough, but being in a _book_... an actual history book...

"But..." he protested. "But... that's... that's _stupid_. I didn't do anything. I mean, that hex just bounced. What's that to be famous for? He killed both my parents and then he messed up, and they put that... _me_... in a book for it?

"Well, he died, didn't he? The war ended. I mean, it doesn't matter why you managed to kill him, as long as you did, right?"

Harry was silent, not knowing how to explain how unfair it was that everyone had known all of this about him while he'd been kept in the dark. How scary it was to think that there were probably people out there who hated him for something he couldn't even remember; and even worse, people who loved him for it and thought he was some kind of hero. And how being famous for failing to die with his parents felt like some kind of betrayal.

At last he opened his mouth again, but at that exact moment the train whistle sounded, and in the next moment they were both in a hurry to stuff everything back inside Hermione's trunk before the train left without them.

* * *

"Hey, throw your bag up there, Herm."

"I… can't… get it up…"

"Wait, we'll do it together. One… two…three... PUSH!"

Hermione's trunk finally slid into place. Harry gave it an incredulous look. "What did you pack? Bricks?"

"Maybe it's a bit heavier than it has to be," Hermione admitted, sinking into a seat. "Mother packed tons of underwear. I accidentally told her that wizards probably clean their clothes by magic, and she didn't seem to think that sounded very reliable. So obviously she's tried to give me a full stock that will last till Christmas."

Harry laughed, trying unsuccessfully to shove his own trunk up on the rack. Eventually he had to let Hermione lend him a hand, even though his trunk was considerably lighter. But then again, it wouldn't really make sense of Severus to mistrust wizarding methods of washing. If anything, now that Harry came to think about it, he mistrusted the muggle way. He was forever grumbling and complaining about how the washing machine kept washing out the colour – as much colour as black-on-black had – from his clothes.

It was a funny old world.

They then both sat down, and for a moment they didn't know what to say to each other, and so they just stared at the people running to and fro outside the window. Then, as the train slowly began to move, they examined the compartment they were in. Then they stared at each other. Slowly, they both began to grin. To Harry, what had seemed unfamiliar and frightening just a few minutes ago, was now a splendid adventure for the two of them to share. Hermione was looking just as nervous as he felt, and that, oddly enough, made him feel a lot better. Being alone and frightened was unendurable; being together and frightened was rather exiting.

For a long while they sat quiet, watching the city give way to rolling green fields outside the window. It wasn't an awkward silence, but the silence of two people too overwhelmed to find words for to fill it with. It was also the silence of two people between whom words weren't really necessary right now.

"So…" she hesitated, fumbling with the sleeve of her shirt. "Harry, I have to ask… do you remember anything about… well, about all those things you are famous for?"

Harry looked down on his hands, wondering why on earth she 'had to' ask. "No. Or…" He kicked at his seat with his heels, a nervous staccato drumming. "Sometimes, when I dream, I see a green light, and I sometimes think that I can hear someone laughing. When I told Severus, he seemed like he didn't want to talk about it."

Hermione had hid her mouth behind her hands, wide-eyed with horror. "I… bought some other books except the ones for school for fun, and... Oh, Harry, I read about this curse that you use for killing people and it said that it was recognisable as a green light!"

Harry swallowed. It was that green light that had killed his parents. And it would've killed him too, if not… if not _something_ had happened to stop it.

Silence fell over the compartment, as they both struggled not to meet the eye of the other. Finally, Hermione took a deep, bracing breath. "Well, since your dad… or, that is…" she hesitated, but rallied quickly. "…your step-dad is a wizard, you must've met some other wizards, right? And witches."

Harry, relieved that they were now leaving the subject of dark wizards killing his parents far behind, grinned. "Yup. Uncle Remus is one. And Andromeda, you know? And Nymphadora. And… well, Hagrid was _supposed_ to have been a wizard, but he did something stupid, and he wasn't allowed. Nobody wants to talk about it, really" he added as an afterthought, frowning slightly.

"Would you?" Hermione asked tartly, assuming with annoying accuracy that he had nagged on people about it, and thereby in her eyes had been horribly rude.

"S'pose not. Anyway, they told me lots of things about the wizarding world. And the wonderful thing is, the more they tell me, the more it seems that I don't know." Hermione gave him a bit of an odd look, but Harry just shrugged and grinned even wider. It was the kind of grin that Severus usually referred to as "a splintering headache in the making", and it always made Hermione slightly nervous. But at the moment, Harry seemed quite happy with just sitting there.

There was a quite loud noise going on outside, and a smiling woman poked her head through their door. "Anything from the trolley, little ones?"

Harry was already on his feet, having spotted the trolley loaded with candy outside. In his hand he held a quite heavy stash that Nymphadora had slipped him, 'for various expenses'. Not that Harry knew exactly what she had meant by that, but candy seemed to him right now to be a very likely 'various expense'. Hermione followed him a bit more cautiously, and Harry quirked his eyebrows at her. Her parents were dentists, and seemed sometimes to be of the opinion that candy was the source of all evil, an attitude that had made Hermione somewhat wary of any product polluted with sugar.

"'S not going to eat you" he told her, fingering a liquorice wand. "As a matter of fact, if you're doing it right, you're the one who's supposed to eat it."

She sent him a cross look, handing over some coins. "Two packages of…" she carefully read on the wrappings "…chocolate frogs, please."

Harry, on the other had, was less considerate when it came to money, and bought by the principle, "rather a lot too much than too little". Hermione rolled her eyes at him, as he dropped his purchases on the seat beside him. "_Really!_" she muttered exasperatedly, but he ignored her, being far too caught up with trying to pry his bag of 'Bertie Bott's Every-flavour Beans' open. Huffing a bit, she opened the wrapping on a chocolate frog, fishing out a card of it with a vaguely surprised face. "What's this?" she asked.

"You're supposed to collect them. There's a famous witch or wizard on every. You can read who it is underneath the picture." The bag finally opened, spraying beans all over Harry and his seat. He swore, diving to catch those that had fallen to the floor. Meanwhile, Hermione carefully studied the picture.

"So this is Dumbledore…" she mumbled, turning it over to read on the backside. Harry, now slightly curious, since he had heard quite a lot about the Headmaster, looked up. The old man on the picture winked at him. Harry thought with a slightly unpleasant jolt in his stomach of the pictures inside the locket, in this very now hanging around his neck. He thought of that even if this Dumbledore died, that picture would keep smiling and winking forever, as if nothing had happened. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he suddenly wanted very much for Hermione to put the picture down.

"Here," he said, throwing her some beans. "They're fun."

"What do you mean, fun?" said the girl, who had earlier experienced some of the quirks in Harry's sense of humour.

The black-haired boy rolled his eyes. "I mean, they are fun, because they are in absolutely _every_ flavour. First time I ate them, I got one tasting of cardboard, and one tasting of soap. That was terrible." He grimaced wildly as he remembered the taste of perfume in his mouth.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Doesn't sound _terribly_ fun to me," she said acidly, purposely using the corresponding adverbial. But she still took a cautious bite of one of the beans, which was a colour somewhere between cream and golden brown. Her eyes widened. "It tastes like pancakes!" she exclaimed, somewhat mollified for the moment. Harry grimaced wildly over his own bean.

"Then you're lucky. I got mustard."

* * *

Remus watched the train leave the station. He had argued with himself whiter he should approach or not, but as Hermione had turned up he had settles on watching from a distance. From what he had seen, Harry had been pretty determined that Andromeda should leave him alone, so maybe he wanted to do this on his own. Remus didn't want to be in the way for him. And he had his friend with him, he reminded himself sternly, when his resolve for a moment wavered. The boy was no infant, he could take care of himself.

Now the platform was slowly emptying, but decided Remus stayed for a while. So he stretched his legs out and leaned back on the cool wooden bench, inhaling the smell of the station slowly, savouring it and the memories it brought. He remembered how scared he had been the first time he had set foot here, how he had cowered at every noise, wanting to cling to his mother but not daring to, in case his new classmates would see him and thing he was a mama's boy. And as she kissed him on the cheek and told him she was so happy for his sake, that she loved him but she had to go, they would be wanting her at the office in ten minutes... he hadn't been able to be angry with her; she had looked so pale in the morning light, so miserable with guilt and yet so proud of him, and he knew that if she'd been able to, she would've stayed. And so he had told her he'd be fine, and he had forced himself to turn his back on her and walk away. And then...

* * *

_1971_

"Ow!" Remus promptly toppled over, sitting down hard on his behind and glancing up fearfully at whomever it was he had managed to walk into in his rush to get away from his mother and her sadness. A thin, pale face with aristocratic features looked back at him, the slate-grey eyes as smooth and unfathomable as the autumn sky.

"Oh, I am dreadfully sorry," the other boy said, although he didn't even sound _quite_ sorry, let alone not dreadfully so. It was just an automatic response. Remus just mouthed silently, trying to say that everything was fine, but his voice was gone. He blushed, humiliated, wondering if this was how it was going to be with everyone he met here. If that was the case, maybe it would've been better if he hadn't gone, just like the previous Headmaster had said. But mother and father had been so happy...

His train thought was interrupted by the black-haired boy, who, after giving him a curious glance, extended a hand towards him. Remus instinctively took it, and with surprising strength for someone so slight of built, the other boy pulled him to his feet. Remus stood, confused, as the other boy held onto his hand and shook it. "Sirius Black, pleased to meet you. You're a first year too, aren't you?"

Finally, the paralysation that had held his throat seemed to let go! "I...Remus Lupin. Nice to meet you too. And yes. I am. Starting first year, I mean." He _hoped_ it was going to be nice, at least; this boy seemed rather cold and odd, but at least he was polite and had done nothing nasty so far, and that had to count for something, right?

The other boy seemed to relax just very, very slightly, as if he had been preparing for something unpleasant to happen and had been proven wrong. Now he smiled; a true, warm smile. "Lupin? I think I heard of your family. Well, see you at school."

The boy nodded at him and then sidestepped him, and as Remus turned around to watch him go, not even managing a proper goodbye, he saw the boy meet up with two parents and a little brother, obviously there to wave him off. His mother grabbed Sirius by the chin and tilted his face upwards, giving his forehead an almost ceremonial kiss, and instead of squirming away like most boys in his age would've done, Sirius seemed to accept this treatment with just a slight look of unease. Then his father shook hands with him, something Remus thought was a rather odd thing to do, but Sirius acted as if it was perfectly normal. Sirius' little brother said nothing, but watched his older sibling with mixed admiration and resentment.

Remus wrenched his gaze away, and started to manhandle his trunk aboard the train, feeling ashamed, as if by watching he'd intruded on something deeply private. He knew he wouldn't have wanted anyone to watch his and his mother's farewell like he'd watched Sirius and his family. Yet again, they had all been so weird; so stately, imposing and cold. Not at all emotional. Remus felt more like he had watched some secret ritual than something intimate and personal.

He'd found himself an empty compartment, fully expecting to spend the whole train ride alone, and had been caught completely off-guard when, a few minutes into the ride someone had opened the door and, after a moment's hesitation had said, "Um... Is there... Could I sit here? Only all the other compartments are full, and..."

Remus nodded and tried to smile, and the other boy looked hugely relieved as he dragged his trunk inside and flopped down opposite Remus. He introduced himself as Peter Pettigrew, and after a few moments of awkward mumbling, Remus found that he was a lot easier to talk to than Sirius had been. For one thing, Peter seemed just as terrified as he was, and unlike Sirius he didn't radiate that subtle aura of superiority that had made Remus feel like an insect under a magnifying glass. When the train had started to slow down a few hours later, Remus was already hoping desperately that he would end up in the same house as Peter, because if he just had one friend around, perhaps things wouldn't be so bad, after all.

* * *

_1991_

Remus closed his eyes tightly, tiredly rubbing a hand over them, and then he straightened out and got to his feet. But even as he walked away, he couldn't help his soul reaching out through all those lost years, making that single day and all its importance shine starkly against the emptiness of his mind.

His wish had come true, and he thought with a wry smile that both he and Peter had been equally surprised to find themselves sitting by the Gryffindor table. Sirius had been there, too, and now he didn't have quite the same composure that had made him so imposing when Remus first met him. No, Remus thought, he had seemed even more nervous than Remus and Peter, and he had kept glancing over at the Slytherin table, where he _should _have been, if his parents had gotten their will. However, Sirius also been a lot friendlier by then, and he introduced them to a boy he'd met on the train, James Potter, who to the eleven-year-old Remus had seemed incredibly confident and chatty, but strangely enough not all that intimidating.

And that had been that, Remus thought with a wistful smile. It had really been that simple; all his fears had proved to be completely unfounded. Within a week the four of them had started acting as if they'd known each other forever, within a month James had managed to talk them all into swearing each other eternal friendship. It had been a very silly ceremony, including mixing blood and spit in a bowl and reading an oath over it while clasping hands and grinning nervously at each other. It had been completely nonsensical, of course, not magic at all, but it had sounded good. It was about ever-lasting brotherhood, about sticking together through thick and thin, about never ever _ever _letting each other down, or the traitor would be blood-cursed and turn into some awful creature.

Well, he supposed they had been right about that last part.

Remus took a detour through a bar on his way home, and spent a long time sitting in a corner and staring into his empty glasses of whiskey, trying to find in it the confidence to cry when he knew he shouldn't, to speak even though he had no idea to whom. It had just been a silly oath made up by a young boy who had read too many adventure novels. No blood magic, just childish mysticism. Yet Sirius was in Azkaban, no doubt going madder by the minute, probably losing whatever humanity he'd had left after the murders... And Remus? He was alive while James and Peter were dead, wasn't that a betrayal as well? So maybe he was slowly transforming too? Maybe he was only imagining that he was regaining more and more of his sanity, that his eyes were slowly turning brown again, that his faith in humanity was once more growing? Maybe it was all a lie he told himself so that he wouldn't have to notice that he was slowly turning into... into what? A wolf through and through, both in human and cursed form, like the man who bit him, like Fenrir Greyback? Was that what he was going to become for breaking James' oath?

A brief, painful thought shot through his brain like lightning: _Then let it be fast, god help me. Just end this waiting!_

And when the tears came, they came without words, for there were no words for what he was feeling now that Remus wanted to speak.

* * *

In the blissful darkness of the inside of its eyelids, The Creature cowered, afraid to even for a minute surface and see where he was. Every time he had to return to Hogwarts it was torture, and the ride on the train was the worst of it. Everywhere there were triggers, everywhere there was evidence of what he tried to forget. There was the dent in the wall that the badly aimed hex had caused, there was the rip in the curtains from when he had tripped over James' bag, there was the burn-mark on the floor where Sirius had spilt that goop he had made out of acid-pops and dragon gall…

The Creature had learnt soon enough that it was better to just close his eyes, better to shut it all out.

Yes, The Creature, that was what he called himself. It was easier to diminish what he was, to believe that he was less – much less – than the human he had once been, because believing he was more was to believe he had lost nothing. And that wasn't true. No, the last of his humanity was spent, he knew that much, and it was better to admit this to himself and become The Creature, than to remember that he had been much more, and feel the loss. Feel it, and know that it was no one's fault but his own.

In his mind, he was sure he was a monster. In his heart, he knew that this wasn't true, and that he was nothing more than a coward. In his soul, he was sure that he was just weak, that's all, just a weak person that they had asked too much of. But then his mind replied that no, I am evil, I am a monster...

On and on the treadmill spun, and he was never going to get away. For there was no explanation that was easy, no way of knowing why. All there was, was the knowledge that he _had_ done it, and that he was never allowed to forget it.

The train thundered on, and that was a part of it too. It was all there to make sure he didn't forget, and it was true that it was easier to linger in darkness and hide from the light, but the darkness held such frightening visions in it...

In the darkness The Creature that had once been Peter twisted and tried to escape, tried to make himself small, tried to disappear, because he knew that the moment he stopped they were coming for him...

Lily, fire rattling in her breath, her last breath, but she wasn't dead, or if she was it didn't matter because she was coming for him and fire came with her.

Remus, moonlight shining from his eyes, his own terror trapped inside him; he would grab him and pull him down, down, and he would never let go.

Sirius, with shadows shifting around his forehead, the black night coming with him, the Black knight, coming for vengeance through the darkness.

And then James, with the halo and the sword and the forgiving touch, but not for Peter because for some sins, there was no repentance, no way of washing the blood away, just the endless treadmill and to never, ever be allowed to forget.

What had he done? Ah, but he knew that, didn't he.

The locked-up man screamed in agony, but the monster had locked him in the closet and how did he like it now, eh? The darkness was smothering, unbearable, yet he still feared the light too much, did not dare open his eyes when the phantoms came for him, wanting to take him home.

And there was no saviour, he thought, clarity cutting through the darkness for an instant, thoughts forming out of the dumb turmoil. Who was supposed to save him? The Dark Lord? If he came back, The Creature thought he would probably follow, for it was the only place in the world where he now belonged. It was a cold, bleak place to belong, but at least it was better than being bereft, and remembering before, belonging, believing in being loved. Just as it was better to be The Creature than being nothing, nothing but the knowledge of what he could have been. Just as it was better to run than to turn back and see himself, every person he had ever been, standing where he had left them; accusing him, praising him, hating him, but being nothing like what he was now, nothing like nothing.

He turned away – or maybe they did – and he gritted his teeth and swore never to return, just to cry out the moment thereafter, begging them to come back to him. But when he looked, there was no one there.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so I fail a bit on the cheerful, but I'll try to make up for it.**


End file.
